The Rat and the Lion
by TybTheRed
Summary: A chance encounter with a deadly foe puts Volker Weilstadt, a reformed criminal and sewer watchman, into an unlikely partnership with Aclan, a failed high elf bodyguard. This series of short stories will follow the strange pairing of Sewer Jack and White Lion of Chrace as they make their mark on the Old World...whether they want to or not.
1. No Good Deed

_It was after a decade in the service in the Sewer Watch that I first encountered the man who called himself Dieter._

_You've no doubt gathered this by now, dear reader, but I shall tell it to you plainly. I had seen all manner of people join the Watch. There was, of course, the expected criminals and vagabonds with no other option (the group that I myself claim membership with). Some who hired on were, Ranald bless them, truly good souls that believed the Sewer Watch was an important task that required its own stalwart souls just as the State Army did. I've fought side by side in those stinking depths with zealous Sigmarites and borderline heretical worshippers of petty river gods or solar deities. I can honestly say that I owe my life to countless humans, several dwarfs, and at least three halflings from my time as a Sewer Jack alone._

_Dieter seemed to be, at first glance, just another human criminal. A leather cap had covered his head and the quilted armor he'd been wearing looked like any old gambeson you might have looted from an unfortunate mercenary or perhaps won off your mate in a game of dice. The only odd things about him were his weapons; the gigantic axe and fine quality bow he carried across his back._

_When I had first met him, I had said, "that axe won't get much use down there."_

_Dieter's simple reply had been, "it stays with me."_

_Far be it from me to tell the man otherwise._

_For three months after he'd joined the Watch and served with my patrol, nothing particularly noteworthy happened. Dieter had proven he was quite the fighter, both at range and up close. It wasn't until a fateful day in spring that things changed; barely a week after my twenty-ninth birthday, actually. It was the first time I saw Dieter use his axe. Coincidentally, it was also my last day as a Sewer Jack…_

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Volume 2: Watchmen of the Deeps."_

* * *

After a while, you got used to the smell. Weilstadt told that to every new recruit that he'd encountered after he himself had gotten used to it. It was never a comfort to them. It wasn't much of a comfort to Weil himself, either, truth be told. It was hard to call getting used to the smell of human excrement and gods knew what else a good thing.

Weilstadt led a patrol of six Sewer Jacks through the dank, disgusting tunnels that ran beneath Altdorf and sluiced away the waste of countless thousands of people. One could easily guess at the lead Sewer Jack's past with a single glance at him. Every inch of exposed skin from his neck down revealed countless tattoos. The imagery of them was telling; skulls, elaborately designed blades, tally marks, the list went on and on. If one didn't know any better, they might think the one wearing all that ink was trying too hard. Weilstadt did know better, and he knew for a fact he had been trying too hard when he'd gotten all the ink. It had been meant to make up for the fact that, in his youth, Weil had always been skinny and short. Both of those issues had been taken care of by the passage of time, but tattoos remained.

The patrol was passing through one of the main sluiceways beneath Reikermarktplatz. This tunnel was quite tall and wide, the central channel of filth flowing sluggishly but at least noticeably. It was one of the more pleasant locals one could hope to find underneath the streets. In spite of the crisp evening above their heads, it was hot and humid in the tunnel. In spite of signs of decrepitness, Weilstadt knew these sewers would be standing long after he was dead. The dwarfs had built them. They'd likely last until the earth broke around them.

Directly behind Weilstadt of Jeanluc, the reedy Bretonnian peasant that had run all the way from Bordeaux to escape his feudal lord. After Jeanluc was Horst, the beefy, scruffy former pit fighter that was carrying an oil lantern on a pole. The horse thieving cousins, Gehrman and Otto, were next. Finally, bringing up the rear of the group, was the ever foreboding form of Dieter. Dieter was the only one in the group taller than Weil. For the environment around him, Dieter had a surprisingly delicate countenance, his strength a lean one rather than a muscular one. As always, that big greataxe was on his back, its haft wrapped in cloth and its blade covered in oilskin.

At present, the squad was simply patrolling. Their lanterns created an oasis of light amid the crushing darkness of the sewers. Weilstadt had been on a few outings that had gotten their lights extinguished in one way or another. Most of the times, they'd managed to get one of their backup lanterns or torches lit in short enough order. The one occasion where they hadn't still haunted Weilstadt's dreams. He always carried an additional torch after that day in hell.

"Movement", Gehrman's rough voice cut through the dismal symphony of dripping stonework and sloshing sewage.

Everyone stopped in their tracks, at once ready for combat. Weilstadt dropped to a knee, ready to fire his crossbow at the first sign of attack. Usually, movement calls were false alarms. The darkness and the foul miasma of the sewers could easily play tricks on paranoid eyes. It was the rare day Weilstadt got angry about a false alarm, though. Better to be too alert down here than too lax.

After an appropriate amount of time, Weilstadt made the call.

"Eyes up. Let's move", the lead Sewer Jack told his squad. He rose to his feet and got moving again.

Their patrol took them off the main sluiceway and down a side tunnel. This passage was much narrower, its central channel small enough to be leapt across. Dieter had to duck his head slightly to avoid hitting it on the ceiling. It was these side passages that were especially of interest to the Sewer Watch. Mutants, cultists, smugglers, and worse used them with great frequency, sometimes making new tunnels of their own into the earth beneath Altdorf. Occasionally, the Watch was commissioned to bring barrels of gunpowder down to seal off illegal tunnels. Not so, this night.

It was Weilstadt who would call a second halt to the group. It was not movement that caught his eye. He held up a fist, stopping everyone behind him.

"Lantern", Weil said, holding a hand back. Otto put the ring handle of a hooded lantern in the squad leader's palm. Weilstadt held the lantern forward and inspected what had first caught his eye.

When left alone, the polluted, noisome air of the sewer would start to condense into a semi-solid, filmy sludge. It was normally just a slippery nuisance. This day it was both a boon and an ill omen. There were tracks leading into another side passage that was so thin it would only be passable by single-file. The tracks were coming from the opposite direction the squad was headed. Weil looked at them with a seasoned eye and at once his heart sank. He recognized the way the muck had been scraped by scurrying, clawed digits.

"Look like rat tracks", Gehrman noted with unease.

"Psh, you're mad. There ain't no rats that big. Just some bloody muties with quare feet", Otto scoffed. Gehrman and he had only been serving for a month. In fact, only Horst had been around Weilstadt long enough to know what exactly had left those tracks.

"They's rats, alright", Horst rumbled knowingly.

Otto rebuked him, "knock it off, old man. We know you're yanking our chain."

"He's not", Weilstadt confirmed. He stood back up, passing the lantern back. "Not just any rats. Underfolk."

That word silenced the young horse thief. Everyone had been told the stories of the underfolk. But they were supposed to be just that; stories. They were a wive's tale that frightened children into good behavior.

Be a good lad or the underfolk will get you as you sleep. Mama Weilstadt's voice rang through the squad leader's head. His current surroundings were testament to how much credence he'd paid to those tales back then.

"Skaven", Dieter's airy voice drifted from the back of the group.

That threw off even Weilstadt. He looked back at Dieter, flabbergasted that the tall man had said the word. It had taken Watch Captain Neuer's knowledge for Weil to learn the true name of the underfolk. How did this man know them?

There'd be time for that later.

"Whatever the hell they are, we have a job to do, Sewer Jacks", Weilstadt got his people on track. "We're going to see where this leads. If it goes too deep, we'll mark the area and come back with blasting powder. Eyes and blades sharp, lads. Let's go."

The group of Sewer Jacks proceeded forward. Weilstadt hung his crossbow upon his back, drawing two long-bladed daggers instead. In the sewers, one was oft times doing their killing while belly to belly with their foe. He also had a gladius that he'd "inherited" from a Tilean Sewer Jack for when a little more room opened up. Wide slashes and titanic overhead strikes were useless in such confines. It was down to brutally efficient pragmatics from there.

The squad followed the tracks for what felt like an eternity, creeping along to ensure they weren't walking into an ambush. Weilstadt heard the blood pounding through his ears. Each second he expected a horse of underfolk to come bursting from the walls, the floor, their claws grasping, their fangs gnashing…

The Sewer Jacks encountered a light. That was not normal. It wasn't feasible to keep even the main parts of the sewers lit, let alone such a small side passage. Nevermind the fact that the light was green.

Weil edged up to the light, finding it emitted from a tunnel that had been dug into the wall. Full grown underfolk could fit through a hole barely large enough for a human child. The fact that this one was probably large enough for two men to walk through side-by-side was...not reassuring. It took time and effort to dig like this. There had to have been a reason. The light came from glass jars set into wooden sconces that appeared to be full of some kind of luminescent oil. The tunnel sloped upward and turned to the right.

"Why would they go up?" Otto asked.

"Why you think? They attack" Jeanluc asked in broken Reikspiel. He murmured a few words in Bretonnian. Weilstadt only understood "Shallya", the name of the goddess of mercy and healing. The squad leader sent a silent thought to his own patron, Ranald, the god of luck, thieves, and tricksters. He placed a finger against a tattoo of a coin bearing the image of a cat on the underside of his right wrist; one of Ranald's symbols. So hopefully warded against ill fortune, Weilstadt issued his commands.

"Jeanluc, get that shield of yours up here", Weil ordered, switching back to his crossbow. "Everyone else, get ready to put a volley past him. If these rats want to threaten our city, they're gonna get a bit more than they bloody bargained for."

Weilstadt felt a great deal of certainty that no man behind him wanted to run the hell away a lot more than they wanted to go into that tunnel. Perhaps other watchmen, those that patrolled the streets above, had the luxury to run for backup. If the Sewer Jacks did such a thing, their quarry would most certainly have already wrought whatever harm they intended, or at least fled from justice. They may have been the scum of Altdorf, but it was exactly that fact that gave them no other choice. If they failed, they'd lose their livelihoods at best, their heads at the worst.

Jeanluc proceeded forward with his round, wooden shield held forward on his left arm. In his right hand he clutched a wheellock pistol, a fine piece that never should have been in the hands of a peasant, let alone a Bretonnian one. As with most things in the Watch, no questions had been asked when Jeanluc had come for a job. The Bretonnian reached the bend in the upward tunnel, aiming his firearm around it.

"Keeps...upping." Jeanluc pointed upward with the barrel of his pistol and made a circular motion with it.

"Then we keep following", Weil said simply.

They did just that, spiralling upward through the tunnel. If his internal compass was anywhere close to correct, Weil knew they were nearing the surface. The underfolk didn't go up there without reason. It was never a good reason.

Jeanluc drew in a sharp breath. Two gunshots thundered in the confined space. A pair of viridian blurs struck Jeanluc's shield and breached it, splintering through the wood and slamming home into the Bretonnian's chest. Jeanluc was thrown back, narrowly missing Weilstadt as he fell. Two wispy streaks of ghostly, green smoke curled away and dissipated along the path that the fell ammunition had flown on. Weil swore under his breath.

"Warplock guns!" The lead Sewer Jack warned. Weil rounded the corner, looking up to see two shapes hunched over carbine sized firearms. Weilstadt fired his crossbow, striking one enemy center of mass. Thinking quickly, Weil snatched up Jeanluc's fallen pistol on the run, pulling the trigger. With a belch of smoke and fire, the wheellock pistol sped its ball the ten feet between Weil and his target. The second shooter wretched and hissed as the shot struck him down. Weilstadt dropped the smoking pistol, running up on the fallen skaven and driving his knives down into them without stopping. He had to clear the tunnel, give his comrades room to get out of the bottleneck.

Weilstadt emerged into someone's basement. There were crates and barrels stacked against the walls, but there was no stairwell leading out, only a doorway off to Weil's left. So, they were in the house of someone with a bit of wealth, most likely.

There was a little more room up here. Weilstadt used the opportunity to quickly reload his crossbow. As he did, the thwip of an arrow gave him a start. There was a ghastly screech as a skaven lurched through the doorway with an arrow buried in its throat. A glance back revealed Dieter was nocking another arrow on the string of his bow already. Yet more skaven were coming in. In the light of the lanterns, those that had not seen them before got their first good look.

Each of the underfolk was a hunched creature covered in patchy, mangy fur, probably less than five feet tall if they stood up straight. They moved with unnatural, twitchy vigor, some running on two legs, some scurrying on all four. The beasts were altogether too similar to the blessed human form, but their beady red eyes and dripping fangs were nowhere close to blessed. Wormlike tales lashed about behind them as they charged. The ratmen attacked with rusting blades or crude cudgels, some of them with nothing but their deadly teeth.

"Pay them back for Jeanluc!" Weilstadt bellowed as his squad unleashed a fusillade of crossbow quarrels and arrows into the oncoming tide of monsters. Several of the ratmen tumbled to the floor in a heap. At this juncture, fleeing the skaven was suicide. The only way to survive was to kill enough of the craven creatures that those left would flee.

Leading by example, Weilstadt led the way into the ratman mob with gladius and dagger. He flayed into the first one he encountered, using his superior size to bowl his victim over and trip up the skaven behind it. His fellow Sewer Jacks filled in and did as he had taught them. They stayed together and fought as a group. Weilstadt stabbed into the ratmen again and again, parrying aside their blades, dropping elbows on their snouts or driving knees into their chins when they tried to bite. The underfolk fought with no skill, trusting in numbers to win them the day.

The scrap lasted less than a minute. By the end of it, a half dozen skaven were scampering past the Sewer Jacks, fleeing back into the tunnel, the basement filled with the acrid stench of the musk the ratmen exuded when they were afraid. Perhaps a score of the underfolk were dead or dying, those that had been shot at the outset included. Not a bad tally at all.

The Sewer Jacks had not gone unscathed. Gehrman was cradling the stump of his left wrist. Horst was on the floor, his head bleeding and already swelling after the impact of the skaven club. Sewer Jacks didn't exactly receive the best doctoring and skaven were far from the cleanest creatures. Neither Gehrman nor Horst had very good odds of survival. Weilstadt had to make a snap judgement.

"Otto, stay here and watch over these two", Weilstadt commanded. As he reloaded his crossbow, he said, "Dieter, you're with me. We'll try to find the master of this house and warn them. Hopefully this was all of the ratmen."

"It wasn't", Dieter said plainly. "They were sent by their leader to buy time."

"Has anyone ever told you how inspiring your optimism is, lad?" Weil snorted.

"No", Dieter replied. He wiped the blade of his arming sword clean on his gambeson.

"Color me shocked", Weilstadt sighed as he finished reloading.

The two Sewer Jacks slowly emerged into the hall from where they'd been attacked. No sharpshooters or other skaven awaited here, thankfully. There were more doorways on either side of the hall. A set of stairs went down and out of sight to the right. The only light sources were a few haphazardly scattered jars of the underfolk's glowing oil. Weilstadt took a moment to try to decide which way to go.

The sound of something impacting metal reverberated through the basement. It was coming from the downward stairs.

"The hell...is making that sound…", Weilstadt uttered as he started going in that direction.

The pair descended the steps, hearing the smashing of metal more than once as they went. Had the underfolk brought in a battering ram somehow? Explosives?

Oh, how Weilstadt wished either of those had been the case.

When Weil and Dieter reached the bottom of the stairs, they were confronted with a sight that made Weil's knees get wobbly.

The landing widened out into something of a circular trophy room, displaying paintings and banners from all around the world on the walls. Weil paid these no mind. It was the four skaven that stood before them that gave him pause. Three of them were just as large as Weil himself was, clad in plate armor that, while touched with rust, was leagues better than the skaven riffraff they'd already fought. These blackfurred brutes were the skaven elite. Stormvermin. Yet, even they were nothing compared to the fourth one of their number.

The creature was easily twice Weilstadt's size. It barely had any fur on its body, its skin bearing visible stitches as if it had been sewn together from the scraps of many skaven. Ranald's bones, maybe it had been created in exactly that way. Bulging muscles flexed as the gigantic beasts slammed keg-sized fists against an iron door. The door was already badly bowed inward. A vault. Whatever the ratmen wanted, it was inside.

"Smash-crush! Quick-quick!" One of the stormvermin demanded of the giant. The blackfur then sniffed at the air, turning its baleful gaze on the Sewer Jacks. "Scurry-hurry, stupid rat-meats! Kill-slay the man-things!"

The other two stormvermin obeyed their master, lifting up their glaives and going on the attack. Weil loosed his crossbow, which punched through the chest armor of one of the attackers. The Sewer Jack leader finished the wounded ratman off, parrying aside a weak swipe of the thing's glaive before burying his dagger in the blackfur's forehead. Meanwhile, though his arrow had been deflected off the armor, Dieter's sword was already biting the head off of the second stormvermin with casual ease.

"Aaaaagh, when-when you want-need something done right-correct...", the skaven leader seethed, producing a straight sword with a narrow, two-edged blade and a triangular shield. "Skulleater! Kill-slay, now-now!"

The giant beast let out a deep, rumbling, "whuff?" It turned its head, revealing it to be an almost comically small, fairly normal skaven head. There was nothing comical about the deadly potential the beast had.

"The rat ogre is mine", Dieter informed Weilstadt. Without another word, Dieter snatched the giant axe from his back. With two quick tugs, both cloth and oilskin fell away from the weapon. The coverings hadn't even touched the ground by the time Dieter was going on the attack, his axe held at the ready behind him. The silvery, crescent shaped blade was on top of a haft of glistening, fire-blackened wood. As if that wasn't enough, Dieter yelled as he advanced on his foe, "Asuryan guide me!"

All yours, mate. Weilstadt thought to himself as the final stormvermin hurled itself at him with animal ferocity. Weil knew better than to underestimate the black rats. They maintained their positions through constant violence.

Sewer Jack and stormvermin fenced back and forth. The blackfur threw everything it had into its attacks, fighting with frantic speed. Weil was forced to mostly stay on the defensive, deflecting and parrying, giving ground, only riposting when there was an opening. The skaven didn't forget its shield, and every time Weilstadt managed to riposte, the triangular bulwark was blocking him.

Weil could not help but feel that his struggle was a little ridiculous when compared to Dieter's battle with the rat ogre.

The tall Sewer Jack was winging that beautiful greataxe around his body with practiced ease. The rat ogre repeatedly tried to slam into its opponent, but each time Dieter would shift just enough to remain unscathed and lash out with his axe. The rat ogre was already wounded in several places, but that just seemed to piss it off. At one point, Dieter's axe struck the monster and went in deep. The rat ogre snatched the haft of the weapon, wrenching up on it. Dieter did not let go and was whipped through the air like a ragdoll, slamming against the stone floor with a sickening smack. The rat ogre hurled its victim across the room where Dieter slammed into the wall, falling in a heap. His leather cap had come off, revealing a tied up mane of golden hair and...pointed ears.

Oh.

With a snarl, Dieter painfully pushed himself up from the floor to continue the fight.

Weilstadt was backed up to the stairs by the furious skaven as it continued slashing at him. The Sewer Jack had hoped the skaven would tire out, but it was Weilstadt that started feeling his limbs grow weary. He was already bleeding where his enemy's sword had gotten him in the hip, forcing him to limp unsteadily and stay purely on the defensive. The slobbering, raving ratman continued its withering assault with no sign of slowing down. Turned out having the high ground wasn't so useful after all.

Time to get creative, Volker. Weil thought.

The Sewer Jack waited for the stormvermin to attack toward his legs. Weil then leapt down the stairs and tackled the blackfur, his breastplate clanking against his enemy's armor. Human and ratman tumbled down the stairs in a heap. When they reached the bottom, Weil managed to pin the skaven to against the floor with his knees. The Sewer Jack dug his fingers into the skaven's throat as the beast snapped at him, spittle flying from its fangs. Both his blades were gone. Weil couldn't grab his second dagger across his body with his free hand.

The skaven wormed its head free, going for the Sewer Jack's throat. Weil put his forearm in the way and howled every curse between the world of the living and Morr's realm of the dead as those horrid fangs breached his leather bracer on either side.

Weilstadt wrenched his arm aside, pulling the ratman's head with it as he snatched a crossbow bolt from the quiver behind his back and jabbed it into the blackfur's eye. The skaven shrieked and convulsed, releasing Weil's arm and spasming on the floor. Weilstadt backed away and let the ratman thrash around, going for his gladius and picking it up. Dieter still needed help.

The, apparently, elven Sewer Jack had lost his great axe but had somehow managed to climb onto the rat ogre's back. Dieter was using his arming sword as an anchor in the giant's shoulder, repeatedly hacking and stabbing at the rat ogre's head with a curved dagger. The beast was noticeably sluggish compared to before, but Weil figured "better safe than sorry" when it came to half-ton mutant rat monsters. Weil surged toward the rat ogre, at least as quickly as his injuries allowed him to. The monster was looking up and back, furiously trying to throw off its elven attack but unable to reach its back due to its unnatural musculature. That left its throat wide open for Weilstadt to swipe his gladius across. A gout of foul, black blood arced across the floor. Weil was struck by a glancing backhand, which was still enough to put him on his ass coming from that ratty brute.

The rat ogre huffs and caterwauls were silenced once and for all by Dieter spiking his dagger into the monster's temple. The giant shook violently in its death throes, sending the elf flying across the room to have yet another unforgiving encounter with the floor. Dieter struck and rolled while the rat ogre thumped down with the force of a collapsing building.

The basement became eerily silent. Weilstadt could only hear the ringing in his ears.

"So…", Weil began as he sat up.

"Don't", Dieter grumped where he lay nearby, facedown.

"An elf, eh?" Weil said anyway. As the adrenaline started to fade he keenly felt his wounds start to throb.

Dieter pushed himself up to his hands and knees, "I am...glad to see your grasp of the obvious was not knocked out of you."

"Well, we can jaw on that later, I s'pose", Weilstadt decided. "Except, of course, on the matter of your real name. I've got an Uncle Dieter and he's got the roundest ears since Sigmar Heldenhammer himself."

"Ugh", Dieter rolled his eyes. He got to his knees and gingerly clutched his side. "Aclan. My name is Aclan."

"Well, Herr Aclan...", Weilstadt started to say as he looked around. He noticed something, "...hm. Seems my ratty friend I was dancing with decided to go die someplace else."

The stormvermin was long gone. It had shed it's shield, helmet, and most of its other gear to lighten its load amid its escape.

"You should have...grrrgh", Aclan seethed out a breath as he stood all the way up, "...should have finished him off." In spite of his frustration, he hobbled over to Weil and offered him a hand, "though I'll admit you fight well for a dustling."

"Dustling, huh?" Weil snorted, allowing Aclan to help him to his feet. "I ain't met many creatures that can survive a crossbow bolt through the eye like that. Ooh! But, at least", Weilstadt walked over to a fallen object on the ground, "he left us with a consolation prize."

Weil held up the sword the blackfur had been using. It was definitely not of skaven make; it was free of rust and held a keen edge with no nicks or dings.

"A spatha", Aclan said.

"Bless you", Weilstadt bid him.

The elf sighed and shook his head, "that's what that kind of sword is called. A spatha. They're a much less common cousin to the Tilean gladius. The skaven are more populous in Tilea than anywhere else in the world. This blade was likely taken from some nobleman's vault, much like they were trying to do here."

"Heh, well it's mine now either way." Weilstadt said with a big smile. He leaned down and took up the scabbard of this new spatha. It would make a fine partner to his gladius. "Alright, let's, ah...let's check on Otto, go talk to the master of the house, and then limp at all haste to the nearest Shallyan hospice.

"Before you do that…", a woman's voice cut in.

Weilstadt and Aclan looked up the stairs. At the top, a woman dressed like a gentleman rake casually held a flintlock pistol at her side. She was joined by four men in green and violet livery that held loaded crossbows at the ready but not yet aimed at the Sewer Jacks.

A curious little smile split the young woman's face as she went on, "...perhaps you should do some explaining first."

* * *

The pain was blinding, literally and figuratively!

Scrix rolled across the floor, his glands squirting the musk of fear reflexively as the one moment every skaven dreaded approached; death. How could he be sure that he had lived a worthy enough life to be noticed by the Great Horned Rat? What if Scrix was not granted the privilege of becoming a daemonic verminlord in the next life, but rather his soul was given over to the already existing verminlords?

It was this gut twisting fear that sharpened Scrix's focus when he realized the man-thing that had wounded him was moving away. The fool was going to attack Skulleater! How clever Scrix was to bring the rat ogre along. The stupid man-thing was ignoring the real threat that lay only temporarily disabled before him, the greatest skaven to ever live, Scrix Bellyslicer!

Surely, Scrix could have taken up his sword once again and struck down both the man-thing and the elf-thing. But, no, even the tiny sliver of a chance that he would die was too much. Scrix shaped his fear into purpose. The man-thing's bolt would have to remain for now. The stormvermin shed all his excess gear and scurried up the stairs before his enemies could see him.

Scrix hurried for the tunnel, but as he entered the room where the tunnel was, his glands let free yet more fear musk. More blasted man-things among the slaughtered corpses of Scrix's useless underlings! But, two of them were clearly hurt very badly. Scrix did not slow as he entered the room. The third man-thing was distracted by one of his hurt comrades. It was the height of stupidity. Worrying about others meant one had less attention to spend worrying about themselves. Scrix showed that man-thing the error of his ways as the skaven sprang at him, his fangs clamping down on the man-thing's throat.

Scrix bore his victim down to the ground, tearing his fangs free and springing off the dying man-thing before either of the wounded fools could strike him in the back. In mere moments, Scrix was slinking back into the sewers. The tunnels of the Under Empire would not be far. Scrix still had enough warp tokens stashed away. If he could keep himself alive that long, he could easily pay one of the flesh smiths of Clan Moulder or the warlock-engineers of Clan Skryre to craft him a new eye.

As his safety became more and more assured, Scrix's mind turned to a more important question. How had the man-things discovered them? The stormvermin's plan had been utterly flawless! It had to have been his incompetent underlings. They must have left a trail for the hunters to follow, then lacked the skills to even kill the interlopers. Yes. Surely, that must have been it.

Except...it was a bit too convenient. How could so many incompetents end up under Scrix's command? A fresh idea struck him. It must have been a scheme from his jealous rivals. But who would be so foolish as to strike at he, the greatest of all skaven? Perhaps even Warlord Ankretch Bloodcrawler himself was to blame. Ankretch was, no doubt, well aware of how mighty Scrix was. If not for Ankretch, Scrix would surely already be leading Clan Kozrot to the highest of glories. Oh, but now the Warlord had done it. Scrix would not let this treachery pass. Once Scrix had his eye tended to, there would be a reckoning the likes of which the Under Empire had never seen.

Scrix's belly rumbled. He should have taken some of that man-thing he had bitten to eat on the journey.

First the eye, then food, then there would be a reckoning!

* * *

Karolina had been the lass's name. Karolina von Bauman, to be exact; as in, the daughter of Baron Bruno von Bauman, the master of the house and the lord of some estates out in Reikland. Weilstadt hadn't been listening to that part, admittedly. He'd been too busy bleeding.

Truth be told, Karolina had ended up being exceptionally helpful. It had taken her very little time to establish the way things happened and she'd taken the Sewer Jacks at their word. The dead skaven had given her a scare, but she recovered with admirable speed and gone to fetch her family's preferred physician. The portly man was able to quickly treat Weilstadt's wounds and give Aclan both a draught and a poultice to encourage his internal injuries to heal.

The unfortunate reason that the doktor was able to help Weil and Aclan so quickly was because they were the only two still alive. Otto had been dead when they entered the room. Horst had passed while the physician was on his way. Gehrman had held on admirably, but shock and blood loss took him, too.

The next afternoon, Weilstadt was awoken in the barracks of the Sewer Watch. It was little better than a flophouse in one of Altdorf's slums. The capital of the Empire of Man had an abundance of many things. Slums were one of them.

Groggy and sore, Weilstadt hauled himself up from his sleeping pallet. Normally, he shared the dingy room he slept in with the rest of his squad, then another squad would take their place when Weil's team went out. Today, only Weilstadt was in there. Aclan had been brought to the physician's office to stay overnight and be observed to make sure he wasn't bleeding internally.

Weil shuffled through the barrack, rubbing sleep from his amber eyes. Upon arriving at a door at the end of a mildewy hallway he paused to yawn before tapping on it with his knuckle.

"Come on in", a voice like tumbling rocks beckoned.

Weilstadt pushed in the door in, enter the office of Captain Heinrich Neuer. Weilstadt, some days, could scarcely believe that he himself had served in the Watch for nearly ten years. He felt every one of those years in his joints on humid or particularly cold mornings already, in spite of his relative youth. Thus, the fact that the man seated before Weilstadt had actively served in the sewers for three times as long as Weil was still mind boggling.

Neuer was built like a barrel of ale and was more scars than skin. He wore an eyepatch over his right eye and was missing his entire left ear. A triangular notch had been gouged out of his left nostril as well. Neuer's presence had a certain level of...inevitability to it. Merely by sitting there and existing, Neuer sent any and all who saw him a message; whatever "it" might be, Neuer would endure it.

The Watch Captain's office, for what it was worth, was surprisingly neat and organized. There wasn't exactly a lot of paperwork when it came to the Sewer Watch, but Neuer kept all his scrolls and ledgers arrayed in order on a series of secondhand bookshelves around the walls. A single window with a pane of flimsy glass allowed the grey light of a cloudy day to filter in.

"C'mon in, Weil. Take a seat", Neuer bade, gesturing to the rickety chair across Neuer's battered desk.

Weilstadt sat down with a creak. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Aye. I did", Neuer sighed. He drew in a breath, drumming his desk with both hands, then bought time by opening a drawer in his desk. Neuer produced a clay bottle and two wooden cups. "Thirsty?"

"Parched", Weil answered.

Neuer nodded, pouring two generous measures of his favorite spirit. Weilstadt accepted his with gratitude, savoring the smokey, earthy flavors of the peated whisky.

"It's not often we get a positive impression in the mind of a noble. You did good last night, Weil", Neuer said. He sipped from his cup. The Captain was stalling.

"Beg pardon for the cliche, but just doing my job, sir", Weilstadt replied.

"Aye, aye", Neuer breathed, considering his cup for a moment. "Well, Sigmar take my eyes, Weil, there ain't no easy way to say this so I'll just say it. I have to let you go. Deiter, too."

The warmth of the whisky was immediately replaced by ice water. Weil's entire body tensed.

"Le-...let us go…", Weil repeated. "You just said we did a good job."

"If I had it my way, you'd be my new Watch Station Lieutenant and someone else would be taking over your patrol", Neuer explained, sounding furious. "But...well, you know how complicated things get around the underfolk better than most, eh?"

Weilstadt pursed his lips but couldn't help but agree. Every Sewer Jack that lived long enough to encounter the skaven learned about two things. First, they learned the underfolk were not just a myth. If they made it through the first thing, they ran into the second; the Conspiracy of Silence. For reasons that not even Captain Neuer fully understood, it was the policy of those in power in the Empire to suppress all knowledge about the skaven. Those who spoke out were denounced as madmen, arrested, or just disappeared from their beds in the middle of the night. It was the major reason as to why the Sewer Watch was such a sorry organization. Their service was necessary, but their ranks were filled by some of the least credible people in the Empire.

"Why make me quit?" Weil asked, still incredulous.

"The story that's being told is that your entire patrol was killed protecting Baron von Bauman's estate", Neuer elaborated, the words filled with venom. "It was only by the intercession of the Baron himself that you and Dieter were spared being arrested. The deal is the authorities will leave you be as long as you accept your resignation and never mention your involvement in the incident."

Weil was speechless. The previous night had been the most significant fight of his entire career as a Sewer Jack. He hadn't been expecting a promotion or a damn voucher for premium services at the nearest brothel, but dammit, he certainly didn't think losing his livelihood would be on the table either.

"Captain, you know I've got expenses...", Weil said in a quiet voice.

"If there was another way, you know I'd do it. My hands are tied. If I go against this, I risk everyone in this station's life", Neuer lamented. "I can give you severance pay", the Captain reached into another drawer in his desk, "and, what's more, I can give you a message I received this morning before you woke up."

Neuer sat a coin purse on the desk, filled with Weilstadt's usual payment of four silver shillings and twelve brass pennies, based on the look of it. Beside the purse was a small scroll that was sealed with wax. Weilstadt grabbed the scroll. He was about to ask who it was from but then he saw the image that had been pressed into the seal. It depicted a kite shield with the image of a burning key on its face. Weil had seen that emblem in several places inside the halls of the von Bauman manor.

"The Baron?" Weil asked, his frustration temporarily forgotten.

Neuer shrugged, saying, "apparently."

"Hm", Weil hummed. He took a letter opener off of Neuer's desk and broke the seal, unfurling the scroll. The message was short and succinct.

_To Herr Weilstadt and/or Herr Aclan,_

_His Lordship, Baron Bruno von Bauman, cordially invites you to meet with him at your earliest convenience. This message cannot offer any details beyond that it concerns a matter of potential employment. Please call on His Lordship within one week, between eighth bell in the morning and eighth bell in the evening._

_Warmest regards,_

_Albrecht Motz, Steward to House von Bauman_

Interesting. Suspicious, as well. Weilstadt couldn't help but wonder if von Bauman had engineered Weil and Aclan's termination. Or maybe Neuer was correct and it was von Bauman's word that had spared the two Sewer Jacks an even worse fate. With no other means of income to fall back on, Weil didn't really have a choice. He'd have to track Aclan down and see what the elf thought.

The elf. Gods. Weil hadn't even had time to fully process that revelation yet.

"Look, Weilstadt, go ahead and keep all your gear. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you've got allies here, for whatever that's worth", Neuer tried to assuage his subordinate. "I'm sorry it turned out this way."

"It's not your fault, sir", Weil told him as he rolled up the scroll. "You've been a good friend to me. I won't forget it."

Neuer smiled and nodded, raising his cup to Weilstadt, "down in the deep."

Weil did the same, replying, "where the best still sleep."

They knocked their whisky back.

* * *

Doktor Peder hemmed and hawed when Weilstadt entered, fretting that treating an elf would be too different and kill Aclan, or that Peder's practice was now cursed somehow. Weil mostly ignored the good doktor, grateful as the Sewer Jack was for his own treatment.

That is, former Sewer Jack. Ranald's bones.

Weil found Aclan sitting up in a simple cot in an unadorned room, staring at the wall, his weapons and armor lined up against the wall. The elf was pensive, his brow furrowed.

"Hey, Diet-...that is, Aclan. You know how you always hated being a Sewer Jack?" Weilstadt asked as he entered the room.

"Vividly", Aclan answered.

"Good news; we're fired. Now, read this", Weilstadt said, offering the scroll to the elf.

Aclan showed no sign of much of anything as he unfurled the scroll and read it.

"Why are we fired?" Aclan asked with all the interest of a man wondering if it might rain today.

"Because of the underfolk. We aren't supposed to know about them. Long story. Doesn't really matter", Weil grunted, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yes, you humans are quite good at deluding yourselves into thinking danger isn't there simply because you ignore it", Aclan chided, rolling the scroll back up.

"Aye, aye, your elder wisdom shames us all", Weil brushed off Aclan's snippiness.

"You're in awfully good spirits for someone who just lost four comrades and then their means of employment", Aclan tacked on.

Weilstadt gestured about with one hand as he spoke, "if I got weepy over every person that died around me in the Watch then I'd've cried enough tears to swim to Ulthuan and tell your queen how pretty her eyes are", the human chuckled, "don't exactly like it but what can you do? As for the job, I'd be more pissed if the Baron didn't have something waiting in the wings for us."

The elf glowered and griped, "you make doing a human noble's dirty work sound so fruitful."

"Hah! Then what exactly was the Sewer Watch? Tell me how you really feel, sunshine", Weil scoffed.

"That is how I really feel. Don't call me sunshine."

"C'mon, you want in on the von Bauman job or not, Ac?"

Aclan bristled, "don't call me Ac."

"'Til you stop being such a sourpuss you get sunshine or Ac. Too bad", Weil countered the elf. "Now, you want the job? I'm taking it, most likely. I'm not made of money and I've always had a passion for not starving to death."

"What's the point?" Aclan asked. He put his arms behind his head and leaned back against the wall at the head of his bed.

"It's that or go back to picking pockets and cutting purses for me. Which ain't happening. I don't know what other options you've got, but I'm guessing you aren't exactly swimming in them", Weil conjectured. His hand rasped across his stubbled chin. "Besides, can't deny we make a good team, eh?"

"You don't actively hold me back in combat, that's more than I could say for most dustlings", Aclan granted. He tilted his head from side to side. "I'll join you on the job. I have nothing better to do with my time. However, it will be on one condition."

Weil lifted a prompting eyebrow.

Aclan went on, "you'll be using 'Ac.' If 'sunshine' passes your lips, I'll begin knocking your teeth in."

Weilstadt grinned, "and I'm also looking forward to it, partner."

Aclan swung his feet out and stiffly stood up, "partners with a dustling. Loec can certainly be mysterious in his ways."

"Dunno who that is, but you're probably right", Weil said with a shrug. The two men started making their way out of Doktor Peder's office.

"It is a gross oversimplification to say so, but think of Loec as the elven Ranald and spare us both the intellectual pains", Aclan said. He set his teeth against whatever aches he was feeling.

"You must be fun at parties", Weil noted.

"I wouldn't know", Aclan said.

Both human and elf walked out into the street and headed for House von Bauman.

* * *

_It was far from an ideal outcome at the time. You see, being a Sewer Jack had defined me for such a long period of my life that I could not imagine doing anything else. I had always assumed I would either die at my post or live long enough to be the next Watch Captain. I took pride in that job. To have it all snatched away from me in an eyeblink barely gave me any time to come to terms with it. By the time it was finally setting in, I had already moved on to the next phase of my life._

_Little did I know how the dangers of that next phase would, time and again, make me long to return to patrolling the sewers._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Volume 2: Watchmen of the Deeps."_


	2. White Knight, Black Powder

_So, my career as a Sewer Jack ended with the abruptness of a dwarf wedding officiated by a greenskin. With that same abruptness, my new vocation as an adventurer began. Truth be told, I was glad to have Aclan at my side. He was clearly a skilled warrior, more so than I myself at the time, and what he lacked in enthusiasm he made up for with determination. That may sound like a contradiction, but it was true. Until the battle with the skaven, I had never seen "Dieter" show any emotion beyond a shifting of the brow. Yet, he was always alert, threw himself into every battle with zeal, and always fought with the unit instead of going solo._

_But, I digress. That very day, we went to the von Bauman estate as the note asked us. I was eager to learn what the job was and, if necessary, whether I should start looking elsewhere. Coming to the place from the outside, in the light of day, was strange. I could hardly believe our battle in the basement of the manor had taken place only the previous night. _

_This would be the first proper adventure that Aclan and I undertook as partners. That it would set the tone for many of the exploits to come is rather...distressing, in hindsight._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 3: My Beginnings with Aclan"_

* * *

Important people liked to keep desks between themselves and those they were talking to. Even Captain Neuer had possessed one. Weilstadt wasn't sure if that just naturally came with importance, or if all people of a certain standing were let in on this secret by some unknown society. How it was unknown was a mystery to Weil. Clearly, it was the carpenters who make desks.

"...so for that, you have my thanks, Herr Weilstadt, Herr Aclan", Baron Bruno von Bauman was saying.

Weilstadt blinked, realizing he'd zoned out. Whoops.

"It was all part of our job, milord", Aclan filled in for his spacey compatriot.

"Hah, I dare say fighting beastmen like those isn't a normal part of _anyone's _job." Von Bauman said. He'd spoken "beastmen" with a certain inflection. He knew the truth.

Weilstadt's opinion on noblemen was generally middling at its very best. Sure, _some _of them were probably not puffed up and useless sacks of debauchery and entitlement, but in his experience, such nobles were the exception and not the rule. Von Bauman, at first glance, appeared to be one such exception.

Though he had gone fully grey and was rather bulky, von Bauman had the look of a warrior gone to seed with age rather than someone who had gotten so big by virtue of wine and food alone. His woolen clothing was of fine make but lacked gaudy colors. Von Bauman had a strong, square jaw set below a surprisingly thoughtful face. An oiled and combed beard fell all the way to the Baron's breastbone. Most notably, however, was von Bauman's metal right hand. It was an elaborate construction of steel and wood. Each of the prosthetic's fingers had hinges where a normal hand would have knuckles. The hinges of the thumb and forefinger were locked in place and clutching a cigar at the moment.

Unlike Neuer's office, von Bauman's had one of Weil's favorite smells; the smell of books. There were countless volumes lining the shelves in here. Most of these were probably records and statistics rather than the books Weil liked to read, but all the same. There was a dry bar in an oaken cabinet as well, though the Baron had sadly not yet offered spirits.

"Not even I have ever fought one like that giant we faced yesterday", Weilstadt revealed.

"I had my fellow asur with me when last I did", Aclan said.

"Fellow...what?" Von Bauman asked.

"Asur", Aclan repeated. "High elves. My people."

"Ah. Thank you for clarifying", Von Bauman said. "Oh, by the Hammer, how rude of me, would either of you care for a drink?"

"I have acquired a taste for the vodka of Kislev in my travels", Aclan admitted to Weil's surprise.

"Truly?" Von Bauman exclaimed. "Hah, well then; Maike, three vodkas."

Weilstadt's request for a whisky got tucked back away. Ah well. Free booze was free booze.

A middle-aged servant woman approached the dry bar from her waiting place beside the door. In short order, she set the drinks before the men at the desk, then backed away.

"Thank you, Maike", von Bauman said. He took a pull from his vodka before speaking again, "aah. Alright, to business, then. The message I sent mentioned employment. To be clear, it was not an offer of a permanent arrangement, but rather a single job that I need done. Rest assured, however, that if it _is _done, you will be handsomely rewarded."

"Adventurer's work, then", Weilstadt guessed.

"Ehm, yes, I suppose it is, more or less", von Bauman confirmed. He brought his cigar to his lips and puffed on it a few times. Smoke curled away from his mouth as he went on, "though I make my residence here in Altdorf, my holdings are several rather scattered and admittedly small fiefdoms throughout Reikland. None are more than three days ride from Altdorf, mind. Regardless, did either of you hear of Rurgar Ashen-Pelt?"

Both human and elf shook their heads.

Von Bauman nodded, "hmm, fair. It was a Bray-Shaman that was leading a horde of beastmen on a tear through the Reikwald Forest to the south. The village of Lichtzeichen was in the path of Rurgar's rampage. As you have likely already guessed, Lichtzeichen is one of the villages that pays homage to me."

"The two of us will be of little use against a Bray-Shaman powerful enough to amass a horde", Aclan noted. His vodka was already empty.

"The Emperor already dispatched the army. General Arendt led the State Troops and smashed Rurgar's brood, took the beast's head, and slaughtered most of the filth that followed it", von Bauman clenched his flesh and blood hand before him with satisfaction. "No, Lichtzeichen is abandoned for the moment. I will have to petition the Office of the Census to have it repopulated and rebuilt. What I need from the two of you is for you to accompany an expedition to Lichtzeichen."

"Accompany", Weilstadt repeated. "So we'll be...guards? Scouts?"

"Bodyguards", von Bauman answered. He sighed wearily. Suddenly, it appeared his cigar and vodka held no appeal. He started undoing the hinges of his fingers to release the cigar.

Weilstadt noticed Aclan tense up slightly beside him. For all the emotion the elf showed, Aclan may as well have leapt to his feet and cried out.

Von Bauman spoke quietly. "I used to personally ride out to see to these sort of things and to protect my lands from the threats my house soldiers could handle. It's part of _noblesse oblige, _methinks. My peasants work hard and pay their taxes. That earns them my full effort to ensure their safety, don't you think?"

"Makes sense", Weilstadt said, weathering this tangent with easy patience. "I admit, I'm surprised you're sending your daughter. She your only child?"

Von Bauman nodded, looking a bit downcast, "indeed. Shallya be praised for her, too. Whether she's my only child doesn't matter. Karolina will lead this family one day. She must learn to do as I once did; not just seeing villages as numbers on pages and yellowing scrolls, but as living, breathing places that require management and care. But, you make a good point, Herr Weilstadt, which is why I decided you would be accompanying Karolina the moment she told me of your battle outside the family vault. The job is simple; protect Karolina so that she may accomplish the task I have given her. You will follow her orders but you have my implicit permission to countermand what she says if it will prevent you from protecting her."

Weilstadt had never done bodyguard work. Back in his days before the Watch, he'd needed to circumvent bodyguards on a couple of occasions, but they had been street thugs just as Weil himself had been.

"No noble lineage survives for long without making enemies", von Bauman regained his composure. "There are those who might wish to harm my daughter while she is away from the safety of Altdorf. Remnants of Rurgar's horde could still be about. Bah, well, you don't need me to tell you that the world is a dangerous place, even here in the heart of Sigmar's Empire."

"We allowed to know what Karolina's task is?" Weilstadt inquired. He'd expected Aclan to ask some actual intelligent questions but the elf was still mostly shut down.

"She must retrieve something from the manor house in Lichtzeichen. I cannot tell you specifically what. When she obtains it, you'll know. Until then, the fewer people who know of it, the better", von Bauman said. "Bring Karolina back to me and I'll give you both ten crowns. Bring her back with the item and I'll make it twenty. Either way, my daughter must come home."

Weilstadt felt his eyes bug out of his skull. Even after receiving a few raises in the Watch, the most he'd ever made in an entire _year _was eighteen crowns, and he'd counted himself blessed for it. Weil now understood why so many people turned to adventuring.

"We'll take the job", Aclan said almost at once.

"Uh, ah, aye, aye, what he said", Weilstadt agreed. "When do we leave?"

Von Bauman smiled and looked relieved all at once. "First thing in the morning."

* * *

Weil had been worried that Aclan and he would be the only ones protecting Karolina. He was relieved to see that a dozen of von Bauman's house guards were riding with them. The guards each had a pistol and a curved cavalry sword and were protected by brigandine armor in the von Bauman colors of green and violet. They were led by a former sergeant of the Reikland State Army, a bilious mule of a man by the name of Adalwulf Locke. In addition, the Baron had hired two wagons from the Dochfleischer, Duderich, and Lenskorovitch Coaching Company to carry all their supplies and whatever might be salvaged from Lichtzeichen.

Neither Weil nor Aclan owned a horse, and Weilstadt had never ridden a horse in his entire life either way. Thus, Aclan and he were both riding in the back of the foremost of the two wagons, sitting on sacks of horse feed. The wagon was driven by a curious pair. The one holding the reins was a tiny brunette woman who would have been over five feet tall if one counted the wide-brimmed hat she wore. Six flintlock pistols were holstered across her torso, hips, and thighs. Beside her, holding a blunderbuss so big that it bordered on being classified as field artillery, was a man Weil had initially mistook for another ogre. The hulking brute had a warhammer with a head of bluish metal across his back. The odd pair had, appropriately enough, introduced themselves Svetlana and Johann. They conversed with each other in Kislevarin.

The procession left Altdorf scant minutes after the cock's crow that morning, traveling down the Imperial Highway. The road would eventually lead to Axe Bite Pass and, beyond that, the lands of Bretonnia. In the other direction, if one followed it north and east, one would pass through Middenland and the other northern provinces, eventually arriving in the frigid lands of Kislev.

Weilstadt had left the city on a few occasions, mostly when Sewer Jacks in other locations in the Empire needed training or backup for a particularly big infestation. His outings were rare enough that seeing a vibrant forest in the full, emerald bloom of spring was a novelty to him. Yes, Weil knew that in the shadowy depths beneath branch and bough were beastmen warherds, packs of bloodthirsty mutants, bands of wolf riding goblins, and much, much worse. The sewers were dangerous, too. At least the forest was pretty to look at in spite of the danger.

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the squirrels and rabbits were frolicking. Weilstadt's belly was full of breakfast, he was currently on path to make a lot of money, and he hadn't yet had to smell even a whiff of human shite. So, really, things were looking up in spite of losing his job in the Watch.

"What are you reading?" Karolina's voice asked.

Weil, who had been reading a battered, worn down book let out a wordless grunt of surprise before turning his attention to his charge. Not a very "attentive bodyguard" way to act. He was learning on the job.

Karolina was riding her roan courser alongside the side of the wagon that Weil was leaning his back against. The young noblewoman had done away with her rakish clothing and donned a nondescript but sturdy ensemble of studded leather armor. She'd cordoned her long hair into a tight bun on the back of her head. In addition to her pistol, Karolina had a basket-hilted broadsword sheathed at her hip and a bandoleer of throwing knives across her chest.

"Beg pardon?" Weil asked in return.

"Your book", Karolina clarified. "What is it?"

Weil looked down at the well-thumbed volume. The title was written in faded letters along the leather spine. Weil closed the book. He didn't need a bookmark with this one.

"_The Rise of Sir Marcellus, _my lady", Weilstadt answered. He held back on the details. Most people only asked to be polite.

"I'm unfamiliar with that one", Karolina admitted. "What's it about?"

Oh. Nevermind, then.

"An assassin from Tilea flees to the Empire, changes his ways, and eventually becomes a knight of the Order of the Broken Sword", Weilstadt summarized. He could feel himself getting excited and wanting to offer a full commentary. A pretty lass was asking about him about his favorite book! Reason and prior experience stayed his hand, however.

"Interesting", Karolina said, her eyes falling to the time worn cover of the novel. "Clearly you've gotten a lot of enjoyment out of it. I shall have to keep an eye out for it next time I'm at the bookstore. I confess some surprise, I did not expect you to be the reading type, Herr Weilstadt."

"I get that a lot", Weil revealed with a casual shrug and an easy grin. "It's something I've kept from my childhood. My mother was a scribe, see, so I was taught my letters young."

"A scribe...", Karolina parroted. Weil recognized the tone. The next question would invariably be, "...that would make you a burgher family. How did you end up in the Sewer Watch?"

Weilstadt smiled. There was no humor in it. "By making series of very bad choices, my lady." On this, he was more than happy not to elaborate.

Thankfully, Karolina respected his privacy. "Well, I'm glad to have you and your partner along, regardless. Forgive my prying."

"Nothing to forgive, my lady. If anything, forgive _me _for being the subject of conversation." Weil said.

"I _was _asking about you, so it would make sense", Karolina snickered. She looked over her shoulder as Herr Locke called out to her. "Perhaps next time we'll speak of me to assuage your guilt, Herr Weilstadt."

"Please, just Weil, my lady. Calling me 'Herr' is like putting an altar in an outhouse. Though, I promise the only 'vile' thing about me is the name", Weilstadt insisted.

Another laugh from the noblewoman. "Sigmar, that was terrible...ah, as you wish, Weil. Until next time, then." She tugged back on the reins and answered her underling's summons.

Weilstadt, smiling to himself, reopened his book.

"You're being too casual with our charge", Aclan muttered across the wagon.

Weilstadt closed his eyes and then his book. "Pardon?"

"Being overly friendly with the one we're protecting will endanger your ability to protect her", Aclan said, a bit louder.

"That makes no sense. Didn't realize you were an expert, Ac, did you do much bodyguarding back in Ulthuan?" Weilstadt asked with baldfaced sarcasm.

"Yes", was Aclan's completely serious answer.

"...oh", Weil breathed, not sure how to reply to that.

"Be as friendly as you wish when we have completed our task", Aclan advised. "Until then, I suggest you stay more alert."

"As you say, boss", Weilstadt snorted. He reopened his book once again, though he didn't absorb the words very well. So, Aclan had been a bodyguard. Interesting. Perhaps that was why he had been so eager to take this job. It was a return to familiar territory for him.

Closing his book a third time, Weilstadt puffed out a long breath as he tucked the novel away and started keeping an eye on their surroundings. One thing quickly became clear.

Being a bodyguard was boring as hell.

* * *

The little convoy had stopped in the trade town of Bogenhafen. It would be the last major settlement they would see until the trip back, according to Karolina. Weilstadt had expected an easy night of relaxation on his employer's coin, but to get to that, he first had to accompany Aclan as the elf gave a thorough interview to every single person that was part of the caravan. He grilled the coachmen and all the guards, even running Karolina down a list of questions about potential enemies that might be encountered. By the end, Aclan was satisfied that none of the guards posed a significant threat to Lady Karolina.

"Not yet, anyway", the elf had added with a suspicious glance over at the table where the bulk of the guards were drinking and playing cards. Lady Karolina was at the head of the table.

"I'd best go make sure, then", Weilstadt had said. He'd then proceeded to walk over, buy into the card game, and spend the rest of the evening carousing with them.

The next day, it seemed the only person in the caravan that wasn't hungover was Aclan. Weilstadt was leaned over the side of the wagon, letting out a series of low, pained groans as he watched the road passed by beneath him.

"Something tells me you know my opinion of overindulging on the job", Aclan quipped.

"I got a pretty good idea", Weil bemoaned. His stomach lurched as the wagon hit a bump. "Uuuugh...may Morr's hand reach out and take me…"

"Why do humans feels so compelled to drink to excess? Your lives are short enough already. You needn't shorten them further by indulging in all that swill."

Weil scoffed, "and I guess you folk are nothing but sober paragons, eh?"

"I didn't say my people were exempt from drunkenness. But partaking in an aged Cothique red is vastly different from the foaming dirt water you dustlings call ale", Aclan clarified as if he was speaking the wisdom of Bellona Myrmidia herself.

Weilstadt laughed. "Ah, Ac, are all you, uhm...'ass-er' so pleasant?"

"Asur", the elf corrected. He did not address Weil's question.

The caravan paused to rest and water the horses around the noon hour. It wasn't until they were an hour away from their destination, the village of Drittesonne, when things stopped going so smoothly.

Weilstadt had gotten over the worst of his hangover and was resting with his crossbow across his knees. His wagon was leading the way, with Karolina and Locke at the head of the short column of riders that filled the gap between front and rear wagons. The trees of the Reikwald passed by, one after the other, in a monotony of green leaf and brown bark. Weil had also gotten used to the animals darting around, so at first, he'd thought what he was seeing was a few bounding deer.

"We are surrounded", Aclan murmured.

"Surrounded?" Weil repeated. He blinked, looking harder.

"Wolf riders", Svetlana said in Kislevarin-accented Reikspiel from the driver seat. She drew a pistol, crying out, "wolf riders! Everyone to arms and do not stop moving!"

"Dammit all", Weilstadt swore, almost rolling out of the wagon as the wolves closed in and the horses spooked and bolted down the road.

They came from both sides of the road. The wolves themselves would be dangerous enough; broad chested, grey furred brutes with knife-like teeth and claws. However, it was the goblins riding on the backs of the wolves that made it truly dangerous. The short greenskins were clad in crude hides and furs, carrying whatever weaponry they could get their hands on. The goblins taunted and whooped, their little red eyes gleaming hatefully as they closed in.

Weilstadt let loose from his crossbow, scathing a wolf in the ribs and sending it tumbling ass over elbow, its rider thrown into the path of the trampling hooves of a horse. Johann's giant blunderbuss roared, turning two goblins into something resembling blood sausage before it was put into a casing. Svetlana began methodically drawing and firing her pistols one by one.

More blackpowder pistols coughed all around as the von Bauman house guards opened fire into the circling raiders. Hot lead ripped into greenskin and wolf alike. One guard was struck by arrows and taken from the saddle. Another had his mount taken out from beneath him as a goblin's spear bit deep into the horse's flank. A trail of bodies from both sides was being left along the Imperial Highway.

Aclan drew his arrows and fired with practiced efficiency, hitting anything that managed to get near Karolina's horse. Weilstadt reloaded, but it was a laborious process. His arm still wasn't fully healed from the stormvermin's bite. Adrenaline finally allowed him to get another bolt in, and he surveyed the running battle.

He stopped surveying as a goblin riding directly beside the wagon hacked up at him with a scimitar. Weilstadt yelped, falling back, his shot firing uselessly into the air. The goblin was airborne, jumping from the back of its mount, its blade reared back. Weil dropped his crossbow with another yelp and acted on instinct, reaching to his hip and drawing his spatha. With the same motion he drew it and swiped upward, knocking the scimitar away as the goblin slashed down. Weil lashed out with his boot, shattering the goblin's bulbous nose beneath the heel. The greenskin shrieked and fell away, bouncing off its wolven mount and falling to the road.

"I hope goblins aren't suddenly too much for you", Aclan said over the din of combat as he loosed another arrow from the string of his bow.

"I thought that one was your mother and it scared me", Weil snapped as he hurriedly sheathed his spatha and grabbed his crossbow. He took a couple of seconds to gather the flow of the battle as he yet again tried to reload.

Three more riders had fallen, though the goblins had noticeably thinned out. None of the guards had gotten the chance to reload yet. They laid about themselves with their sabers, keeping their frantic horses on the road and warding off the ravening greenskins. Herr Locke was picking throwing axes from slots in his saddle, chucking them at any foe that made a move against him. Karolina was already sprayed with goblin blood. Even as Weil looked, her rune-etched broadsword swept out in a deathly stroke that sheered the top half of a goblins skull. Before the goblin had even struck the ground, Karolina had already stabbed downward into the back of the dead goblin's mount.

Weilstadt was just locking the bowstring in place when the goblins tried to make their final push. A voice among them shouted commands and the greenskins surged as one to attack the apparent leader of their unyielding targets. Weilstadt dropped his bolt in the firing channel as Johann finally finished reloading his blunderbuss and obliterated another foe in a torrent of smoke and fire.

The goblins were thinned out yet more and, for a moment, it looked like their attack might be stymied. One of the remaining greenskins, display courage unusual to their race, kept on the attack even after one of Locke's throwing axes lodged in its shoulder. Locke was forced ot put it down with his final axe, allowing another goblin to get past him and approach Karolina from her right. Weilstadt, Aclan, and Svetlana were already shooting at a group closing in on Karolina's left side from off the road, ravaging their dwindled numbers but leaving three still in the saddle. Karolina's attention was focused on the greenskin that had gotten past Locke, and Weil knew he wouldn't have enough time to reload. Karolina was still riding only about ten feet back from the lead wagon, which gave Weilstadt an idea. Even as he thought of it he was already implementing it before he could have the chance to be stopped by something unnecessary like common sense or survival instinct.

_Why does _this _have to be the way I solve everything?! _Weilstadt thought as he left his crossbow on the grain sack he'd been sitting on, put his boot on a crate, and jumped from the back of the wagon. Time seemed to slow as Weilstadt's arc carried him out and down, into the path of the incoming wolf riders as they swerved in to attack Karolina. The Lady von Bauman was drawing her bloodied sword from the neck of Locke's missed goblin when she looked up, green eyes wide with disbelief, at the flying form of Volker Weilstadt.

The Sewer Jack had drawn one of his daggers in his right hand as he fell. He buried it in the chest of one goblin as he passed. An instant later, he barreled into another one of the three.

The entire world became a confusing, jarring spiral as Weilstadt rolled over the ground. His wounded hip in particular cried out in protest. Though he was dizzy and hurting, Weil spat out a mouthful of dust and scrambled to his feet. He was in the grass on the side of the road, the caravan already a good distance away. More pressingly, the goblin he'd tackled was climbing back into the saddle of its angry mount. Even _more _pressingly, the wolf Weilstadt had relieved of its rider with his dagger was closing for the kill, only a couple of strides away. Weil ripped his spatha free, hacking at the wolf and diving away from its claws at the same time. One of the wolf's forelimbs was severed. With a sharp whine, the wounded wolf made an awkward three-legged retreat into the trees.

Weilstadt tried to get up from the ground but the goblin and its wolf were already upon him. The big wolf's paws raked across Weil's breastplate, bringing up curled shavings of metal and pinning the Sewer Jack down. The wolf tried to bite out his throat but Weil just barely managed to push his spatha sideways into the wolf's mouth. All his focus was on keeping the wolf at bay with both hands, and there was nothing he could do as the goblin on its back, grinning maniacally, prepared to stab down at him with its spear.

The goblin suddenly cried out in its nasally voice, dropping its spear and falling from the saddle with an arrow in its back. Even still, Weilstadt still had the wolf to contend with. Just as he was considering going for his gladius with his wounded arm the thundering of hooves was approaching. A shadow whipped by, shaking the ground around Weilstadt. Flashing steel slashed the wolf from stern to stem. The wolf recoiled, snarling and howling, giving Weilstadt the opening he needed to thrust his sword into the beast's chest. The howl trailed off and the wolf flopped over on its side.

Weilstadt pulled his sword free and laid down on his back, taking a few moments to catch his breath. He didn't hear anymore fighting, so either the fight was over and he had nothing to worry about or most of them were too far down the road for him to hear and Weil was screwed. Whichever it was, laying in the grass wasn't going to change the outcome anymore than trying to fight with no breath would.

A large shape approached Weil, blocking out the sun.

"If you're going to kill me, could you pass a message along to an elf named Aclan?" Weilstadt asked as his eyes adjusted to the change in light.

Karolina's face, dusted with both blood droplets and freckles in equal measure, came into focus. The noblewoman snorted softly and asked, "the message?"

"Oh. Uhm...I'm afraid it's kind of...coarse language, my lady."

"Your language was coarse enough when I was cleaning you out at cards last night", Karolina joked. She hopped down from the saddle. "Are you alright?"

Weilstadt replied, "aye, more or less."

"I rather meant 'are you alright in the head?' Because I shall say it plainly, Weil, that was probably the most sodding idiotic thing I've ever witnessed."

"Ah...well, if nothing else, you've just given me a new subtitle for my biography. 'The Most Sodding Idiotic Thing You've Ever Witnessed.'"

Karolina rolled her eyes and let out a reluctant laugh, "gods...alright, then, let's get you up and rejoin everyone before those goblins start getting any ideas."

The noblewoman helped Weil to his feet. The caravan was stopped some sixty yards away. A trio of the surviving guards were coming to meet Weilstadt and Karolina.

"We...we won", Karolina noted, the laughter fading from her face like ice in a kiln. She did not sound pleased at that fact. The Lady von Bauman turned her head to look back down the road at the intermittent trail of carnage that had been left behind.

Weilstadt had a feeling Karolina didn't have the same sense of pragmatism as him. In the Watch, any fight you walked away from was both a victory and a blessing. Karolina likely only saw the high cost of surviving a fight that had nothing to do with their task. In a way, Weil envied her. There had been a time when he would have shared her feelings. Now, it wasn't the deaths of his allies that got to him. No, it was the absence of that feeling that unnerved Weilstadt. It was the way it all seemed to just get rolled up into the great mass blurred faces in Weil's memory, as if all the individual deaths had somehow become a single continuous, nebulous event.

"Aye", the Sewer Jack said at length, knowing full well he didn't have the words Karolina needed to hear. "We won."

* * *

Drittesonnen was only home to a few hundred people. Such a number was small when compared to Altdorf's tens of thousands. When compared to most provincial villages, though, it was both relatively large and prosperous. Drittesonnen was a logging village that made its living by floating Reikwald timber down a tributary of the River Bogen to be purchased for processing by the lumber mills in Bogenhafen. As such, Drittesonnen was and its residents shared several qualities. Both were externally rough but internally sturdy and steadfast. Their semi-regular exposure to Bogenhafen also, thankfully, made them a little less suspicious of outsiders than most village folk tended to be.

Weilstadt was glad to be inside the palisade that surrounded Drittesonnen. The spirit of the entire caravan had shifted. The eager air of casual adventure had been brutally replaced by unforgiving reality. Almost half their number had died in the skirmish against the wolf riders. The fact that the von Bauman expedition had left three times that number in dead goblins and almost as many wolves was cold comfort.

Drittesonnen was just barely big enough to support two inns instead of only the one. Karolina had been directed to Klauser's Coaching House near the gates, which was apparently more suited to serving traveler's than the Blunt Axe located in the town square. Weilstadt translated that to mean the Blunt Axe was "their" place to drink, not for outsiders to meddle in. Just as well. Better they were told that information over blindly stumbling into offending the locals without meaning to.

Klauser's was a nice enough watering hole. There wasn't anything particularly special about it, other than the fact that, apparently, Herr Klauser's wife baked the best streusel this side of the River Reik. It was clean and the beer tasted fine. That was all Weilstadt needed. The streusel would have to wait for another day.

Weil sat with Karolina, Locke, and the surviving guards for a bit and drank to the memory of their fallen friends with them. He listened keenly to the stories they told of the slain, doing his best to commit them to memory. Eventually, though, most of them filtered away to the rooms or withdrew into themselves.

"Damned glad to have you and your friend on our side, Herr Weilstadt", Locke had said, shaking Weil's hand.

"Same goes to you, sir", the Sewer Jack had replied.

Weil ended up at the bar after that, seated next to Aclan. The elf was indulging in some wine that, based on the way his mouth turned down after every sip, he didn't like very much.

"Poor sods have never really had to deal with this kind of loss. 'Cepting for Herr Locke, that is", Weil said quietly.

"Hopefully their recovery process does not interfere with their ability to guard Lady Karolina. They will need to redouble their efforts after the losses we have taken", Aclan said.

Weil's mouth became a thin line. "Pretty sure they know that, Ac."

"I'm not so sure. If not for you and me, Lady Karolina would have perished today."

"Maybe. Maybe not. A little sympathy wouldn't kill you, either way", Weil admonished.

The elf let a breath out through his nostrils, then, "I didn't interrupt their drinking and mourning to chastise them. That _is _me having sympathy."

A fresh pint got set in front of Weilstadt by Herr Klauser. Having no desire to verbally fence with Aclan on the subject, Weil picked the pint up and drank down a third of it before _thunking _the wooden tankard down on the bar.

"I will say that you assuaged some of my doubts about your commitment to this job today", Aclan changed topics.

Weil lifted his brow, "careful, Ac, a lesser man might've taken that as a compliment."

"Take it however you wish to, Volker. A bodyguard must be ready to lay their life down at a moment's notice to protect their charge and today you showed no hesitation to do exactly that. You should be proud."

"Aye...well, thanks", Weil said. He wasn't used to getting praise. Coming from someone as apparently demanding as Aclan, it had to mean Weilstadt was doing something right.

"I think I've indulged enough", Aclan decided. The drinks were on Karolina's tab that drew of the Baron's line of credit so Ac didn't have to leave any coins. "Get some rest. We'll be reaching our destination tomorrow."

"Will do. G'night", Weil bid his partner.

"Good evening", the elf replied, then left.

Weilstadt was alone. There were fewer than ten patrons in the tavern now. Pretty much all of them were travellers sitting in pairs or by themselves that did not want to be bothered. Weil supposed he was one of them. He'd spent many an evening exactly like this while in the Watch. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. He finished off his current pint at some point and got another one. The fuzzy, buzzed feeling was settling over him, making Weil feel relaxed.

Someone sat down beside Weil. He said nothing to them, hoping they'd take the hint and leave him alone. Small talk with strangers was about the least appealing idea in the world right now.

"I should have known you'd be a night owl", Karolina half-slurred, setting an open wine bottle before herself.

Weil blinked as he registered that it was not, in fact, a stranger. Karolina had removed her armor, once more looking like a rake in her bright doublet and breeches.

"Thought you'd gone to bed", Weil said.

"Tried to. Couldn't sleep yet. So I took advantage of room service. Now I'm debating on going for a walk but figured that it would be a poor idea to go alone."

Weilstadt nodded. He, for one, did not relish the idea of wandering around in the evening chill in a village he did not know. In addition, Karolina was clearly some level of drunk.

"You said we'd talk about you next time we got the chance", Weilstadt suggested.

"Hmm...I did, didn't I?" Karolina said, leaning an elbow on the bar and turning to look at her bodyguard. "What would you like to know?"

"You know my favorite book. Tell me yours", Weil requested lightly.

"Ooh. Let me think…", the Lady von Bauman uttered. She slowly rotated the wine bottle around on the bar as she thought. "'A Midnight Stroll Through Mousillon' by Viktor Haas. It's...it doesn't actually having anything to do with the Barony of the Damned, title's just a metaphor they use in the story. It's about a young nobleman trying to deal with the fact that his father favors the protagonist's bastard half-brother over him. Very dramatic, lots of soliloquy. I think I enjoy it because everyone gets what they deserve in the end, good and bad."

"I see", Weil said when she didn't elaborate any further. "Not something that happens in reality much."

"No. It's not", Karolina agreed. She tapped an edge of the bottom of the bottle against the bartop before picking it up and taking a long drink from it. "I, ah, hope that didn't make you think I hate my father. Far from it. There's no one I admire more. Mother passed when I was very young, you see. I know it hurt him deeply but father did his very best for me. That's why I didn't protest when he went to such lengths to ensure my safety on this outing. Which, as it turns out, weren't such ridiculous lengths after all."

Weilstadt grinned in a wan way. "The Baron's a good man. Could tell that plan as day. I'm sorry to hear about your mother."

Karolina shrugged one shoulder, "it was a long time ago. It's hard for me to mourn someone I didn't really know. I think I mourned her absence more than the woman herself", she paused for a second, "I know we're not out of the woods yet, figuratively or literally, but thank you, Weil. You saved my life today."

Weil would have been remiss not to state the facts. "As I recall, you saved my skin as well. And I bet Aclan's arrows kept you alive more than I did."

"You're right on both counts, it's true", Karolina admitted. "I am grateful to Herr Aclan as well. I don't mean to diminish him when I say this but your efforts were rather more...dramatic."

"I saw a damsel in distress, couldn't help myself", Weil said in jest.

"Of course. You're the very image of a white knight." Karolina snickered, nudging Weil with her elbow.

"Though, if that was you in distress I shudder to think how it would look when you have the advantage", Weil added.

The two of them shared a chuckle. Weilstadt had not been able to sit like this for a very long time. He drank with his fellow Sewer Jacks quite often, but there's was a dour company. Plus, it was hard to relax and converse like friends with men who would likely be dead within a month. Karolina's nature had opened Weil up to remembering what it was like to just...exist for a little bit. A comfortable silence settled for a few minutes.

Karolina's face grew a little more serious as she asked, "what...drove you to do that?"

Realizing he was being talked to, Weil arched one brow. "I'm not sure what you mean, my lady. My job's to keep you safe until this expedition's over."

"Weil, there are few people indeed that would quite literally hurl themselves off a wagon _at _a trio of angry wolf riding goblins, no matter what their job is." Karolina said plainly, fixing Weilstadt with a pointed look. "I'm not going to go so far as to say I think you _want_ to die, but I don't think I'm being too bold to say that you wouldn't mind if you _did_ die."

Weilstadt's mouth shifted to one side of his face as he absorbed that statement. He took a generous pull of his ale to buy time.

"My lady, I should have died a long time ago. Morr didn't want me. Or maybe Ranald's fickle favor spared me. The point is, I've been living on borrowed time for ten years", he nodded to himself in self-assurance, "if a better person's life is bought at the price of my own, I'd call that a good trade."

An unusual look crossed the Lady von Bauman's countenance. There was confusion there, maybe something close to sadness as well. Truth be told, Weilstadt had never really thought about it until Karolina had asked him this question.

"Perhaps don't be so eager to throw your life away in the future, Weil. I think you undervalue yourself", Karolina murmured. Her head did a little bob. The wine was starting to catch up with her.

"I'll keep that in mind, my lady", Weilstadt was neutral in his reply. "We'd best turn in, though. We'll be at our destination tomorrow. Hopefully we'll get done in time to make it back here before sundown."

"Mhm", Karolina agreed.

The two of them proceeded to the stairs. Though she was a little wobbly, Karolina held her liquor well and made it under her own power. They stopped outside of Karolina's room.

"I think I'm in better spirits now", Karolina said as she fumbled around in her pockets for her key.

"It was certainly much better than drinking alone, my lady." Weil told her.

"Son of a...ah, there", the Lady von Bauman finally produced her key and unlocked her door. "Good night, Weil, and thank you again."

"Pleasant dreams, my lady, and thank you, as well." The Sewer Jack responded.

Karolina smiled, then closed and locked her door.

Overall feeling a little bit better, Weil made his way down the hall to his own quarters. As nice as this had been, the job wasn't over yet.

Back downstairs, a hooded man in the corner of the room was finally satisfied that his target had been gone long enough that his exit wouldn't be suspicious. With a grim smile, he left the appropriate coinage on the table and left Klauser's. He had some people to talk to.

* * *

Lichtzeichen had most certainly seen better days. The village had no wall. Many of its mudbrick huts had been knocked down. One of the most disturbing things was the complete lack of bodies. Those villagers that had not been killed would have been led off to short, horrible lives as slaves or human sacrifices to the Ruinous Powers. The dead would have been taken as well. An army marches on its stomach, the saying went, and beastmen were no different. Rumor was they found human flesh to be a delicacy.

The village was centered around a small hill, upon which lord's manor. It wasn't an elaborate structure by any means, though it would likely be the nicest building many of the peasants would see in their entire lives. The manor was two stories tall and rectangular. A banner with the coat of arms of the von Baumans was hung over the front door.

The wagons stopped in the town square before the manor house. The guards tied their horses up and set up a perimeter around the front entrance.

"Surprised the beastmen left it standing", Weilstadt noted. He looked around the town square to the statue at its center. More accurately, the statue of an armored knight holding up the severed head of a dead beastman had been pulled down from its plinth and broken into several pieces. The pieces had been smeared with what Weilstadt hoped was just mud. Such was the way of the beastmen. The trappings of civilization infuriated them. They wanted it all torn down and defiled in the name of the Dark Gods.

"This where the State Army caught up with some of the bastards", Locke informed Weilstadt. "Word from a couple survivors is it was only a splinter from the main horde. The beasts fled with their plunder", he spit out some tobacco juice, "glad our lads gave them a what for."

"We should not linger", Aclan suggested. "My lady, we should leave most of our people out here and retrieve what you need as quickly as possible."

"Agreed, Herr Aclan", Karolina said. "You will join me inside. Herr Weilstadt, you as well. Herr Locke, keep watch out here. We shall be but a few minutes."

"As you say, my lady", Locke confirmed.

Weilstadt led the way into the house with his crossbow at the ready. Karolina followed behind him with pistol and sword. Aclan brought up the rear with sword in hand.

The interior of the manor house was somewhat in shambles. It looked more like the occupants had left in a hurry rather than like it had been ransacked. Weil had a feeling the servants that would tend to the place in their lord's absence had taken some of the artwork off the walls. Karolina directed her bodyguards up a stairwell in the entry hall. They passed by two standing suits of archaic plate armor

"We're going to the master bedroom", Karolina informed them. "At the top of the stairs, turn to the right."

They did as the Lady von Bauman said. The floor creaked here and there beneath the feet of the trio. Weil checked every corner, ready to unleash a bolt into whatever might pop out and threaten them. The only thing to be found, however, was the oppressive, unnerving silence.

The master bedroom was home to a large four-poster bed and a great deal of furs. Both the blankets on the bed and the carpet had been changed out in favor of an assortment of animal furs. Two windows allowed in the light that the cold hearth did not provide.

"Alright. One moment." Karolina said. She proceeded forward to the heart, drawing one of her throwing knives. She started digging out the mortar between some of the bricks on the left side of the fireplace.

Weilstadt was admittedly curious about what exactly they were here to obtain. He'd waited this long so a bit longer wouldn't hurt. While Aclan watched the door, Weil looked out the window to Karolina's left. Down and to the right, Locke's men were waiting, looking out into the lanes of Licthzeichen. Behind him, a brick thudded to the floor.

"Almost have it. Have to remove another one", Karolina told her bodyguards.

Weil waited until a second brick hit the floor.

"Here it is. I have it. Let's g-..."

As Karolina spoke, Weilstadt saw a glint coming from the doorway of one of the ruined huts. His adrenaline spiked.

The Lady von Bauman was in the middle of saying, "...-et going", as Weil jumped directly backward, slamming into Karolina and knocking her down as gunshots reported outside and the glass of the window was shattered. One bullet hit the wall opposite the window.

"Snipers!" Weilstadt cried as he rolled himself off of Karolina and onto his stomach. "Stay down."

Aclan dropped low, crawling over to the broken window and shouting, "Herr Locke! Get your men inside and get them down!" He sheathed his sword and switched to his bow. "How many, Volker?"

"Only saw one but definitely heard more than one shot", Weil replied. "Those are Hochland long rifles."

Aclan quickly peeked out of the window, scanning over the village before ducking back down. "I see three gunsmoke clouds. We have to assume they'll have the back side of the house covered as well. We must get downstairs and reconvene with the rest of the group. The enemy will have less of a vantage on us."

The trio crawled out of the room and into the hall. Someone was loudly languishing somewhere outside the house. Weil reached the stairs and saw it was one of the von Bauman guards. Locke had led the men and the coach drivers inside and gone left into a dining room.

The veteran had a throwing axe in each hand, for all the good it would do. "My lady, whoever these bastards are, they got Samuel and Fritz."

The moaning voice outside cried for help, begging Sigmar.

"They got Samuel in the stomach, sir, I saw him go down", one of the guards said.

Weil's mouth became a thin line. A shot to the stomach like that was problematic in the best of circumstances, even for the magic healers and mundane surgeons of the Shallyan orders. Out here they were three hours away from the nearest civilization, and whatever barber-surgeon stitched up the lumber workers in Drittesonne would probably kill poor Samuel as surely as the eventual bleeding out would.

"I'm going to go get him", Locke informed the group.

"Remain here", Aclan demanded.

"You don't give me orders, knife-ear", Locke snapped.

"Samuel was shot in the stomach on purpose in order to make him a hindrance to the rest of the group", Aclan did not back down from the angry veteran. "If you walk out of that door, you will be shot. We must remain and think of a plan."

"Stay here, Herr Locke", Karolina commanded, though her forehead creased with worry as Samuel's shouts became even louder.

"What do you think, Ac? Got a plan for drawing these sons of bitches out?" Weilstadt asked.

"We won't be able to draw them out. Waiting them out is an option, but that could take literal days. No, our only option is to attempt to descend from this hill and get some of our people among the village huts where they can hunt the enemy down. Those rifles take a long time to reload. We must force our enemies to fire again." Aclan elaborated. His eyes shifted up to the long window that lit the dining room.

"I'll do it", Weil offered. "I can make them fire."

Aclan shook his head, "no, I have a better idea. Stay here."

The elf duck-walked out of the dining room. He came back a few seconds later with the helmets from the two suits of armor in the entry hall. Aclan then broke the legs off of one of the dining room chairs. He handed one of the wooden legs and one of the helmets to Weilstadt.

"...you feeling alright, Ac?" Weil asked.

Without reply, Aclan put the chair leg inside the helmet, holding it up like he had impaled the head of a fallen enemy on a spike. Now Weilstadt got the idea. He put his crossbow down and did the same thing.

"We'll try to get as many of them to fire as we can", Aclan said. "When they do, I want four men to join us in charging. The rest of you remain here and protect Lady Karolina at all costs. Herr Locke, I would prefer you are among those who remain here. I want at least two sets of eyes on the back door to ensure they do not attempt to sneak in on us. Are we clear?"

The only one not to openly agree was Locke, who settled for not reacting at all.

"That will do", Aclan decided. "Volker, take the front door. I'll take the window. Decide who will be joining us quickly."

Weil shuffled over to the window. He waited as the guards picked their four, who stacked up on the wall near the door to the entry hall.

"Ready, Volker?" Aclan's voice asked from the entry hall.

"Ready", Weilstadt confirmed.

"On three, raise your helmet slowly. One. Two. Three."

Weilstadt carefully raised the decoy at a deliberate pace. At first, it seemed like the snipers weren't going to take the bait. However, more rifle shots rang out. More glass shattered and tinkled to the floor. The metallic clang of bullets hitting steel helmets rang out. The shot took Weil's decoy out of his hands, but that was a good thing. The Sewer Jack snatched his crossbow from the floor and dove through the now glassless section of the window, hitting the ground and rolling to his feet. The guards yelled as they rushed out from the front door, followed closely by Aclan.

Another rifle reported. One of the guards spun to the ground.

"Smoke cloud almost dead ahead", Aclan directed, running with an arrow nocked on the string of his elven bow.

A shape flitted across the street between two clusters of hovels. Both Aclan and Weilstadt fired at them. Wei missed and Aclan was only able to tag the man in the ankle, but it had the intended effect. The sniper swore as the arrow pieced his leg and he spilled to the ground. Before he could get up, the group of sniper hunters were upon him.

"I'll finish him", one guard aimed his pistol.

"No", Aclan pushed the guard's hand down, "this is an unexpected boon. Take him alive, drag him to that hut", the elf pointed to the nearest dwelling.

The guards were hesitant at first, but did as asked. Weil watched the backs.

"Reloading", Weilstadt informed the group once they were inside. He put his foot through the stirrup on the front of his crossbow, hauling back the string, gritting his teeth. His left arm still throbbed but he refused to let the pain slow him like it had against the goblins.

While Weilstadt reloaded, Aclan slammed his knee down against the chest of the fallen sniper and put the head of his arrow an inch away from the gunman's eye.

"You will tell me how many of you there are or you will lose the eye", Aclan threatened without the slightest trace of emotion.

The olive-skinned sniper cursed several times in Estallian. He tried to worm away from the arrow but he was held fast.

"He might not have any Reikspiel", Weil suggested from where he watched the front door.

"We won't know until he opens his mouth and actually speaks", Aclan responded. "You hear me, dustling? You better start talking or we'll have no reason to keep you alive."

The sniper said a few more things in Estallian.

"Alright, he can't tell us anything, then." Aclan took his arrow away, drawing his sword. "Forgive me if I don't go out of my way to make this painless."

"N-no. No!" The Estallian pleaded as the edge of the elf's sword barely kissed the sniper's throat. "I...I tell you anything, yes? What you want?"

Aclan grunted, "you already know. How many of you are there."

"_Cinco", _the sniper held up five fingers, "_cinco, si? _Two watch back."

"Might be lying", Weil suggested from the door.

"Do you lie, dustling?" Aclan asked, pressing the edge of his blade into the Estallian's throat.

"No! Truth, truth! _Por favor, _am only _mercenario_!" The sniper begged.

Aclan nodded. Then he cut the sniper's throat. Weilstadt's stomach turned but he kept silent. He didn't like the idea of killing an unarmed prisoner but the guards had already lost friends to this man.

"Has anyone in here ever used one of these firearms?" Aclan asked the three surviving guards, pointing out to where the Estallian's scoped Hochland long rifle lay in the dirt. They all shook their heads.

"We need to stay together and at least hunt down the other two in front of the house." Weilstadt suggested. "That will give us an opening to make a break for it"

"I would say that's a solid plan", Aclan concurred. "They'll know we're in among their cover now. We'll have to be c-..."

A rifle cracked. The guard waiting on the left side of the front door jerked back and hit the ground. Weilstadt leapt into action. He dove head first out of the door. Another rifle fired and Weil swore he felt the bullet whicker past him before he hit the ground and rolled up to his feet. He caught sight of a billowing cloak disappearing around a peasant's hut and sprinted after it for all he was worth.

The sniper remained just in sight as Weilstadt followed them between huts, vaulting over fallen heaps of destroyed dwellings. Weil realized he had made a mistake by splitting off from the group but it was this or let the sniper get out of sight and set up someplace else.

Weil's target ducked into a partially fallen in hut. There was no way they would be able to reload in time. With a fierce grin, Weilstadt followed after his quarry, aiming his crossbow into the crumbling dwelling…

It was empty, save for abandoned belongings, a pile of rubble, and the sunlight streaming in through the big hole in the ceiling and upper wall.

The hole. Weilstadt realized his blunder exactly as he heard a pistol cock behind him.

"Turn around, _amigo_", a woman said, her Reikspiel much better than the last sniper.

Weil groaned to himself. Dammit.

He did as he was told, facing the sniper. The hooded woman was surprisingly short, dressed in earthy colored, soft leathers ideal for quick, free movement.

"Drop that crossbow, nice and slow." The sniper demanded.

Weilstadt did precisely that, saying.

"Why not just shoot me?" Weil asked, playing for time.

"Heh, you asking me to shoot you?" The sniper asked.

"Call it curiosity." Weilstadt replied.

"Lady von Bauman's relic is the target. These other _banditos _I'm with may not have professional standards, but I do, so I don't see a reason to kill you unless I have to. I have nothing against any of you but a girl's got to make a living."

"Mm", Weil huffed. "Sorry, lass, but I've got standards, too."

"Is she really worth dying for, _amigo_?" The diminutive sniper asked.

Weilstadt thought on that for a few seconds.

"Yes", he finally answered. It wasn't Karolina specifically, but this wasn't exactly the best time to get into the finer points of Weil's personal motivations.

The Estallian blinked. She looked like she'd just seen an ogre pull off a Bretonnian court dance.

A gun fired somewhere in the village. The Estallian woman's eyes flicked that way on instinct, her head turning a fraction of an inch.

It was the only opportunity Weilstadt would have. He threw his right hand across his body, slapping the pistol away from his face. The gun went off right by Weil's head. His left eye burned, his left ear hearing nothing more than a high-pitched, keening ring as the discharge deafened him. The Sewer Jack took hold of the wrist he'd pushed aside, snatching the smoking pistol from the Estallian's hand and clubbin her over the head with the butt end.

The Estallian woman folded to the ground. Weil left her there, but not before throwing her pistol off as hard as he could, then pulling free the ramrod for her rifle and breaking it over his knee.

"Guess this makes us even", Weil muttered, feeling at the side of his head. His skull was pulsing with pain each time his heart beat. Hopefully he wasn't permanently deaf in that ear. Weilstadt picked up his crossbow and hurried off.

* * *

Aclan had slain the other sniper on the front side of the house with an arrow. After that, the escape from Lichtzeichen had been surprisingly uneventful. Everyone had mounted up and ridden out of the village with all haste before the snipers watching the back of the house could realize what was going on.

That night in Drittesonne had been one of paranoia and people sleeping in shifts, away from the windows. No attackers materialized. The journey back Bogenhafen, then to Altdorf, was a silent and somber one. Less than half of those who had set out were returning.

The little caravan reached Altdorf a little before nightfall. By the time the leftover supplies had been offloaded and the coachmen were paid off, the sun had dropped below the horizon. Weilstadt still had no idea what the artifact was. Frankly, if it was the cause of that mess with the snipers, he wasn't opposed to not knowing.

Baron von Bauman was as good as his word. Weilstadt and Aclan both received twenty gold crowns and a hearty thanks from the Baron. Von Bauman had also offered them both a permanent position among his guards at most, a place to rest their heads for the night inside the manor at the least. Both man and elf graciously declined on both counts.

Weilstadt and Aclan were following Karolina through the atrium of the estate, heading for the front door. When they reached it, they stopped.

"Herr Aclan, we never would have succeeded without your steadfastness. You have my eternal gratitude", Karolina said.

"Only doing my duty, my lady. I wish you the best until next we meet", Aclan replied. He bowed slightly to her, then made his exit. That left Karolina and Weilstadt.

"Are you certain you won't reconsider father's offer of a job?" Karolina asked.

Weil gave her a regretful frown, "it's tempting, my lady, but I think it's a little too soon for me to be putting down roots. I've spent the majority of my time here in Altdorf, really only been in one city or another for the few times I've left the capital. Think I'd like to see some of the world now that I have the chance to do so."

A grin quirked onto Karolina's lips. "Becoming a proper knight-errant, are you? _Sir_ Weilstadt?"

Weil laughed at that. "That would be the day." It had been so long since anyone had shown him such positive attention as the Lady von Bauman had been these past few days. It meant a lot to him. Perhaps it meant too much in so short a time, "well, I, ah...shouldn't keep Aclan waiting. We'll have to figure out where we're going next. Maybe we'll have to stop by and visit next time we're in Altdorf, if you'd like, my lady."

"I certainly would", Karolina said. "But, please...what few friends I can claim call me Lina. I would much like to count you among those friends, nevermind that you saved my life twice. "

"I'd be happy to call you my friend", Weil assured her. "Farewell, Lina."

"Sigmar watch over your battles, Weil", Karolina bid him.

With a final nod, Weilstadt walked outside. Aclan was waiting at the bottom of the front steps of the estate.

"Not a bad haul, eh, partner?" Weil said, walking with a spring in his step.

"We succeeded in our assignment. The monetary reward is irrelevant beyond needing it to survive." Aclan responded.

"Ac. You need to learn to enjoy life a little. Or perhaps just begin with learning to show emotion", Weil suggested. The two of them started walking down the cobblestone path that led from the front of the von Bauman manor to the front gate.

"I show plenty of emotion. It's not my fault humans are essentially shouting every time they open their mouths." Aclan protested.

A house guard let them out of the front gate and into the street. This noble quarter of the city was quiet, but elsewhere, the night life of Altdorf would just be entering the opening steps of its nightly dance.

"I suppose you have an idea on where we should go next?" Aclan asked.

"We?' Surprised you want to keep working together", Weil commented.

The elf shrugged his shoulders, "it's as I said in Drittesonne. You proved your dedication on this job. It's safer and more reliable to work with another."

"Can't fault your logic, my friend", Weilstadt said as he started walking, "and as a matter of fact, I do have an idea where we should go next."

"Where might that be?" Aclan inquired.

"To the nearest tavern, of course", Weil replied.

* * *

_I shall never forget that first job. When I looked back at the events of it individually, there is not anything particularly exceptional. Goblin wolf riders have threatened scores of people every single day all over the Old World. There have been sharpshooters for hire as long as there have been things with which to shoot sharply. However, I believe it's some of the context that makes it stand out. _

_As I explained in the first volume of this chronicle, the my first independent choice away from the guiding hand of my family was to become a criminal. When that reached its inevitable end, I chose the Sewer Watch over returning to my illicit way of life. I believe my time as a Sewer Jack was a sort of purgatory. I'd had nowhere else to go but to that extended test to cleanse my soul and sharpen my mettle. It was accepting the job from Baron von Bauman that was my first attempt to well and truly take my life into my own hands, and in the right way._

_I am grateful even now to Baron von Bauman and Lady Karolina for giving me the chance. Though Aclan wouldn't admit it at the time, I know he was grateful as well, now knowing what I know of his history. It was a good start, but it was just that. A start._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 3: My Beginnings with Aclan"_


	3. The Borderlands Bounty

**(Author's Note: thank you to everyone who's been reading these! Just fyi for those who care, I'm going to be taking a break from this story to prevent burnout and shift over to something I've never attempted to write about that I've been really wanting to try: Lord of the Rings. However, the tale of Weilstadt and Aclan will definitely be resumed at a later date.)**

* * *

_I was rather leery for our first job outside the Empire. Bounty hunting had never been something I had considered partaking in before. I always felt that it took a particular kind of soul to be able to hunt another human (or elf, or dwarf, etc) like one would run an animal to ground. In fact, were it not for Aclan's interest in our quarry, I probably would have ignored the bounty poster. We had been adventuring together for almost six months at that point, yet I had gleaned precious few facts about my elven companion's history. I knew he was a bodyguard at some point but that was really the extent of things._

_I still wonder if the price of finally learning a few new facts was really worth it, all things considered._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 4: Petty Kings and Forgotten Things"_

* * *

They called this place the Border Princes. The name had always confused Weilstadt. It wasn't referring to the people who ruled the place, but the place itself. Except, when one spoke of the Border Princes, they often referred to the people who ruled the Border Princes as princes as well. They did this in spite of the alternative names more sensible folk used; the Borderlands, the Frontiers, or the Border Prince Confederacy. All in all, "Border Princes" was a very poor choice of nomenclature however one sliced it.

Weilstadt had explained this to Aclan on their journey. The elf had not been particularly interested.

To reach the Borderlands, they had traveled south from Reikland through the Empire provinces of Averland and Wissenland. Icy Wind Pass in southern Wissenland led them out of the Empire and into the Borderlands.

Countless petty principalities were scattered across the Borderlands. Most of them weren't any larger than the fiefdom a knight of Bretonnia would be granted at the end of his errantry. These little kingdoms were in constant flux, changing hands, being destroyed by roving greenskins, even while new ones were being constructed by new groups of hopeful colonists looking for freedom from the laws of their homelands.

The "princes" that ruled them were just as changeable. For example, mercenaries of various quality were the most common soldiers in the Borderlands. When he personally commanded the only military force in a principality, how difficult was it for a mercenary captain to overthrow the prince he served and take over? It was this situation and scores like it, playing out every single day. All the while, ruffians and criminals on the run from the law flocked to this place where they could hide and even prosper.

It was to this mad land that Weilstadt and Aclan traveled. They did this in pursuit of a woman. The bounty poster named her Hilda Razordance. Aclan had seen the poster up on a notice board in the city of Helmgart and immediately decided upon following through on it. Their inquiries at the appropriate places had guided them south. Finally, they arrived in Heartstone. They had spent some of their coin on surefooted travel horses. Weil rode atop a dun colored stallion he had dubbed Dust. Aclan's paint mare had been granted the title Ellyria. As it turned out, the elf was adept in the saddle, and showed Weilstadt how to not get thrown (anymore than the Sewer Jack already had been).

"...guess they're rather literally 'round these parts", Weilstadt noted as he looked down the main street of Heartstone to the center of town, where a large, heart-shaped boulder rested in the town square.

"If Hilda really is here, she'll already know we're present. She keeps eyes and ears no matter where she goes", Aclan disregarded Weil's comment. "Come. We must investigate." He tapped Ellyria's sides.

"Even more you know about her", Weil sighed. "If she's not an ex-wife then I'm guessing...a member of your old chess club."

"I've never played chess", Aclan dryly shot that down. "Stop trying to guess."

"I'll stop trying when you stop being mysterious about it", Weil complained to his partner.

"I have to be sure first. Have patience" Aclan repeated as he had many times already.

The two adventurers were just inside the gate of Heartstone. The town was a standard sight in the Borderlands. It was surrounded by a wooden stockade wall atop an earthen rampart. The buildings within were simple and rough, yet sturdy with stone foundations. Everything was clustered tightly together to fit as much as possible into the confines of the stockade. It was a dirty place. For all its trappings to the contrary, it was also an uncivilized place as well. There were many rumors about the Border Princes, but one was true without doubt; this air of security was only a shade above existing as an illusion.

There were only a few hundred people living in Heartstone. Most of them likely worked the wheat fields that surrounded the town. Travelers were common in the Borderlands, but each one could be the next source of turmoil. Weilstadt and Aclan were watched by everyone they passed by. Aclan had his leather cap on that concealed his ears.

"Ranald's bones, this place stinks like the sewers did", Weilstadt said under his breath.

"Likely because a sewer is what they lack", Aclan guessed.

"Hm. True. But, we're here. What now?"

"We speak to the prince in charge of this place. Hopefully they will have heard tell of our assassin."

Weil frowned. "Assassin's ain't exactly big on advertising themselves."

Aclan countered, "that's precisely what they do, but only to those who could afford them. Who else could afford a trained assassin here?"

Weilstadt looked around and the dingy settlement. "Fair point. Off we go to His Royal Grand Majesty or whatever."

Weil and Ac rode past a hunter in the street of Heartstone. She walked with a wooden pole across her shoulders, dead pheasants and rabbits hanging from it. She looked up at the riders and for a moment couldn't believe what she was seeing. The pretty boy in the leather cap was unfamiliar to her, but the tattooed thug beside him was someone she recognized all too well. Maybe this was the work of the goddess. Myrmidia may have been a goddess of war, but hers was a domain of strategy and wisdom. This very well could have been yet another move on the Lioness's grand chessboard. The hunter smiled. It looked like she was going to have some things to do after taking her kills to the butcher.

* * *

The two adventurers rode to the other side of Heartstone. Here, they found another, taller wooden wall. Just as the outer wall had, there were crossbowmen patrolling this stockade. They were every bit what Weil had expected; crude, unkempt men that looked to have the toughness of boot leather. That was the sort of warrior the Borderlands bred. Weilstadt certainly couldn't judge.

A burly man in with a billhook stood guard at the front gate of the inner stockade. Past him, Weilstadt could see a small stone castle that was really more of a fortified tower.

"Who is liege of these lands?" Aclan asked the guard.

"This is the castle of Duke Commandant Lustig Brandt, the Sovereign Lord of Heartland" The guard informed them in a bored voice. "State your business."

"I have questions for His Lordship regarding a criminal reported to be in his lands", Aclan said.

"Bounty hunters?" The guard asked. He reached down through the neck of his chainmail to scratch his chest while hawking and spitting against the open gate door.

Weil stifled a chortle. It was the very definition of refinement.

"Yes", Aclan answered. It was technically true for the moment.

"Hm", the guard scratched at his stubbly neck now. "I s'pose His Lordship would want to talk about that", he stood aside, "g'head in. His Lordship will probably be in the garden behind the castle. Stableboy'll see you coming and tend your beasts."

"Many thanks", the elf said. They rode past the sentinel and into the open yard of packed down, dusty earth. True to the guard's word, a boy in a dirty tunic came jogging out of a low, long building off to the right.

"I'll take those horses for you, my lords", the stableboy offered.

Both Weil and Aclan dismounted, handing the boy the reins. Weil produced two brass pennies and offered them to the lad.

"There's two more for you if we get these horses back in good condition and with everything in the saddles", Weilstadt said in a quiet voice.

The boy's eyes went wide as Weil pressed the coins into his free palm. The lad probably didn't make much more than a few pennies in a day.

"Yes, sir! Of course, sir!" The stableboy enthused before leading the horses away.

"I was just going to threaten him", Aclan said as he watched the stableboy leave.

"And I'm sure it would have worked, but then you would have to live with knowing that you're an arse", Weilstadt told the elf.

"We shouldn't have to pay _or _threaten just to ensure our horses and possessions are left alone", Aclan complained. "Ugh. Humans."

The two of them walked across the yard and circled around the central tower. The garden the guard had spoken of was actually just a few curved planters encompassing a semi-circular courtyard on the back side of the tower. The planters were certainly blooming with lots of bright flowers. Over the planters they could see four people; two seated, two standing.

One standing man was a chainmail clad guard with a spear. The other was a portly, sweating gentleman in an unfortunate combination of doublet and pantaloons that strained to contain his girth. Sitting across from each other at a metal table were a man and a woman.

"Visitors, Your Grace", the big man said, dabbing a cloth across his brow.

"Eh?" The seated man said. He was facing away from Weil and Ac, so he turned around to reveal a handsome, rugged face. His salt-and-pepper hair and beard were both precisely trimmed and coiffed. The man who had to be Duke Commandant Brandt looked the part of a warrior in his well-oiled and conservatively dyed leather jerkin. He even had a defining scar running along his jaw. "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

_Lucky bastard_. Weil thought as he took in Brandt's features.

"Your Grace", Ac said with a slight bow. A sidelong glance from the elf told Weil to do the same, so he followed suit. Aclan kept speaking, "My name is Dieter Großbrucke. This is Volker Weilstadt. We're adventurers from the Empire currently tracking a dangerous criminal. The trail ends in your lands. May we ask you a few questions?"

Brandt made an interested face. "Dangerous criminal in my lands, eh? Sure you're not talking about me?" The Commandant let out a great, loud belly laugh, reaching out and smacking the arm of his portly steward, "come now, Jacques, it's a joke."

"H-heh, yes. Your mastery of mirth is unmatched, Your Grace", the steward replied.

"Aaah, anyhow. Come, come, my new friends, take a seat", Brandt waved the two adventurers forward, then raised his voice, "Alice! Two glasses of wine for our guests!"

Weil and Ac entered the courtyard and took a seat at another table near the Commandants. Now looking at a different angle, Brandt no longer obstructed the lady sitting across from him. "Lady" did, indeed, seem to be the proper word. She was incredibly fair skinned, currently shielded from the early autumn sun by a parasol mounted into a specially crafted mount on the back of her chair. Her form-fitting, sapphire gown was made out of velvet, fringed in what looked like cloth of gold. The platinum blonde hair that spilled from her head looked to be as insubstantial as strands from a spider's web.

"Ah, gods, the very definition of rude, I am", Brandt giggled, motioning to the lady. "My friends, this is Lady Francine d'Val Savroix, my treasurer."

"My lady", Weilstadt and Aclan said almost simultaneously.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen", Francine said in a voice so soft it was barely audible.

"The gentleman with the healthy waistline at my shoulder is my steward, Jacques d'Reinesport, and the emotive fellow over there is General Luis Nuncio." Brandt went on.

Jacques offered a small wave with his kerchief. The slab faced General barely even spared a look. A girl who was probably a year or two away from womanhood arrived with a pitcher in one hand and two glasses in the other. She quickly and silently poured, then left.

"That's a Bordeleaux Cabernet Sauvignon, aged twenty years. Or was it thirty, darling?" Brandt asked his...treasurer. With the word "darling". It appeared that subtlety was not a chief export of Heartstone.

"Yes. Thirty", Francine confirmed. Her eyes did a little flicker between the Duke Commandant and her wine glass.

"Right, right", Brandt said.

The Commandant returned to his wine. Several seconds ticked by. Both Weilstadt and Aclan knew better than to say anything to interrupt his reverie. Weilstadt tried the wine. It was...well it was certainly fancy tasting. He kept the disgust from his face.

Jacques cleared his throat.

Brandt held up a finger, "Right! Forgive me, gentlemen. Please, please, ask your questions. Anything to make my lands a bit safer for my people. Who's this criminal you're tracking? How big is the bounty that you follow it all the way down here?"

"There is a bounty of one-hundred crowns on the assassin whose last known alias was Hilda Razordance", Aclan began, continuing to do the talking. "Accor-..."

At the mention of Hilda's name, Brandt and all his advisors reacted. The Duke Commandant's leather glove creaked as he tightly gripped his cup. Jacques dabbed his forehead against and suddenly found a distant point on the walls around the tower interesting. General Nuncio let out a slight breath through his nostrils. Francine's eyes widened, locking on the table before her, and she turned her body, ever so slightly, away from Brandt.

…_.guess that means that know something. _Weil thought to himself.

With a brittle version of his earlier laugh, Brandt explained, "I hired someone by that name to assassinate Margrave Holmes, the leader of Cretzia, our neighbors to the southwest. The Cretzians had been raiding our farmsteads, you see, and we couldn't bring them to battle because they'd flee before we could mount a response. Well, Hilda Razordance did the job and did it well. In fact, she did it _so _well that she decided the principality of Cretzia was a more fitting reward than the coin I paid her. Somehow, she got Holmes's people and soldiers to side with her, and the raids immediately resumed. Now she styles herself the…", he scoffed, "...Ivory Maharani." Brandt thunked his cup down and let out a seething breath.

Jacques piped up, "u-uhm, if I may, Your Grace?"

Brandt waved his hand in a careless way.

The Bretonnian steward cleared his throat and spoke, "ah, yes, so while His Grace would certainly be eager to lend you support in claiming the life of this criminal, unfortunately things have grown somewhat complicated. You see, Cretzia has just recently concluded a defensive pact with Westerly to their east, which, doesn't really make a great deal of sense as far as names go consi-..."

"Jacques", Brandt warned.

"Right. Ahem", Jacques cleared his throat. "Regardless, the situation is thus; if we attack Cretzia, both Cretzia and Westerly will have _cassus belli _and be justified in attacking Heartland. Which, formidable as our forces are, both Cretzia and Westerly are about our equals. It would be...difficult."

"Even without Westerly's help it would be incredibly difficult for us to take Cretzia's capital, Spite, by ourselves. Even if we did, our losses would likely leave us vulnerable", Brandt had calmed enough to speak again. "The fact of the matter is, we need an ally of our own if this stalemate is to be broken, and it just so happens I have one in mind."

Weilstadt furrowed his brow. Brandt had completely strayed away from the reason for this meeting. Or had he? If Hilda was so well entrenched in Spite, it would be difficult for Weil and Ac to claim her bounty. They weren't assassins. Weil changed his mind. Brandt was absolutely still on the point. He was on the only path that the two adventurers could hope to take that would lead them to their target.

"Who is this ally?" Aclan kept the conversation moving.

Brandt complied. "In the foothills of the Black Mountains to the north, still within the boundaries of the Border Princes, there is a small dwarf hold. Karak Krol. Currently, we have a healthy trading arrangement with them; our wheat for ingots of their steel. Anything that threatens our farmsteads threatens their food supply. Thus, I want you two to go to Karak Krol and propose a temporary alliance in order to launch a punitive attack against Cretzia to stop their raids once and for all."

"Beg pardon, Your Grace, but why would you trust two random adventurers instead of your own people?" Weilstadt inquired.

"I was about to send my own people, but then you two arrive as if sent by the very gods. The raids have my people on edge. I need all hands on deck just to keep my citizens from getting ideas. Before long, that alone might not be enough", Brandt steepled his fingers. "So, what do you say? You carry this message, and a gift, to the dwarfs. Then, you will take part in the battle against Cretzia. In exchange I will let you take the head of Hilda Razordance with you for the bounty, and keep whatever loot you might take from our enemy's settlement. I'd say that sounds quite fair, wouldn't you?"

"Done", Ac said at once.

Weil gave him a look as Brandt exulted.

"Splendid! Splendid", the Duke Commandant exclaimed. "Ah, perfect timing, perfect! Like Myrmidia herself is watching over us. I shall have my man go get the gift. It's in a pair of chests that can fit on a horse, have no fear. Do not try to open the chest. It will seem small, but trust me, it will work."

"As you say, Your Grace", Ac concurred.

They spent a little bit longer in conversation with the Duke Commandant. He was jovial and amiable on the surface, but the way Jacques and Francine seemed to cringe away from Brandt's bigger outbursts were not promising. Even Nuncio would show a little sign of life in those instants. Weil had seen similar reactions in some of the less fortunate in Altdorf, especially those who worked the brothels or on beggars. Seeing bruises and fat lips on them was unfortunately common, as was the way they twitched away from loud noise and sudden movement.

Perhaps he was reading too much into it. Either way, Weil decided he'd be keeping an eye on Brandt as long as they were around.

Before long, Weilstadt and Aclan were riding north down an old trade road. It was little more than a well worn wagon track through rolling grasslands that got progressively rockier and hillier the further north they got. Weil and Ac both had a small chest lashed to the back of their horses.

Once they were a good long way away from Heartstone, Weil addressed his partner. "Ac…"

"I'm not telling you yet", the elf said.

Weil felt his ire rise a little. "Hey. First you drag me all the way down here on a whim because of a face you saw on a poster. Then, you refuse to tell me _why _you had this whim. Finally, you commit us to getting caught up in the brush wars down here without even consulting me about it. We're partners, Ac. I've done my best to take you into consideration whenever possible. The least you could do is extend the same courtesy to me, aye? Am I out of line to say so?" Weil felt like a nagging wife but dammit, he wasn't just going to be pushed around.

Aclan looked mad at first. It was short lived. He took a few breaths, centering himself before he finally replied. "Our quarry's real name is Tharlas. Tharlas Reavestorm. She was a druchii assassin that tried to kill the first person I was ever assigned to as a bodyguard. I stopped her. The druchii do not look kindly upon weakness of any kind so she fled to the Empire. I did not know she yet lived until I saw the wanted poster but I could not mistake that face anywhere."

"Oh. Wow", Weil let out a low whistle, mollified by Ac's explanation. "What's a druchii?"

"A Dark Elf", Aclan said. "Our foul kin from the continent of Naggaroth. You have no doubt heard of their Black Ark Corsairs that raid ships and coasts, taking slaves to work to death, torture, and sacrifice. There are no living creatures more foul in their hearts in all the world, save perhaps the Chaos worshipping barbarians of far Norsca. Even then, it is a near thing."

Weilstadt still wasn't sure the hunt for this bounty was worth getting involved in a brush war. But, now that he had some context for his partner's determination, he was willing to stick this out for now. Clearly, this...Tharlas, Hilda, Maharani, whatever, was a very dangerous person. If nothing else, letting such a person remain in charge of a territory, however small it might be, would only bring suffering. So, wasn't it up to heroes to bring such villains down?

Hah. Heroes. Weil looked down at himself and laughed.

* * *

The dwarf hold of Karak Klon was about what Weil was expecting. It was well and truly in the foothills of the Black Mountains, the imposing peaks of which loomed in the distance. To anyone on the surface, the hold looked like it was a fraction of the size of Heartstone. The circular stone wall that surrounded it was visibly occupied by armored dwarfs, each one carrying a _thrund; _a dwarfen rifle.

"You'd best do the talking. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of this, but just in case; do not let them know I am an elf", Aclan whispered to Weil as they rode up to the gates.

A surly looking dwarf called down from the gatehouse, "state your business, _umgal!_ You are on the lands of Thane Othri Othrisdottir, named the Iron-Plaited in sight of the gods!"

"We are here on behalf of your Thane's neighbor to the south, Duke Commandant Brandt of Heartland", Weil shouted up to the dwarf. "We bring gifts, and a proposal."

The guard turned to counsel with an unseen companion. It did not take long.

"The Thane will want to hear you. You may enter. Behave yourselves, _umgal_."

After a minute or so, one of the gates swung open and gave enough room for Weilstadt and Aclan to ride inside and dismount their steeds. There was one structure in the interior of the walls. It was a stone dome with wide doors that led down into the earth. The vast majority of Karak Klon would, obviously, be down there.

A procession of five dwarfs emerged from the ground. Four were the Longbeards of the dwarfs; some of the oldest, wisest, and strongest of dwarf-kind. They were each like short battering rams, as wide as they were tall, masses of doughty muscle clad in beautiful and strong plate armor. Their titular beards were great masses of gray hair, elaborately braided and filled with golden jewelry, hanging all the way down to past their knees. The Longbeards carried round, metal shields and squarish axes.

The one that led them was, without doubt, the most imposing woman Weil had ever seen. She had a hard, square-jawed face. A plaited braid emerged from either side of her horned helm, both braids descending to her stout waist, wrapping around said waist once, then continuing down to hang at her ankles. The dwarf woman was several inches taller than her Longbeards. The cuirass of her full suit of armor, as well as the colossal hammer on her back, were made of bluish metal.

Othri Othrisdottir affixed the two humans with a critical gaze. Her voice carried the weighty inevitability of a tumbling boulder. "There be only so many hours in a day, _umgal_. Name yourselves and tell me the news from Heartstone."

"Volker Weilstadt, my lady. This is Dieter Großbrucke. We are adventurers currently working with Duke Commandant Brandt", Weilstadt answered, putting a hand to his chest. "The Commandant, first of all, wanted us to present you with these gifts."

Human and elf got the chests off of the backs of the horses and set them on the ground.

Othri looked down at the chests, then back up to the messengers. "Well? Open them."

"We weren't given a key, my lady. The Commandant was very adamant about us not opening the chests. I think he assumed you'd have the means to open them yourselves", Weil admitted, a bit sheepish.

"Heh, well, he's right", Othri guffawed. She then took her hammer off her back, hefted it, and whipped it down.

There was an earsplitting _crack_ as the hammer broke the lock off of the first chest. In a display of surprising finesse, Othri spun with the impact and lifted her hammer, shifted position, and struck the lock from the second chest with unerring accuracy. Her Longbeards nodded in approval as their Thane kicked open the lid of the first chest.

Othri gasped and took a step back. Weil felt his guts turn to water. Had this been a trick? An elaborate joke? He resisted the urge to grab for his swords. However, it wasn't needed. Othri set the head of her hammer down, letting the weapon stand on its own as she reached down with reverent hands and picked up a rectangular object from the chest at her feet. It was an ingot of the same bluish metal that comprised her cuirass and her hammer's head.

"Valaya's golden plaits...I don't believe it…", Othri whispered, eyes wide with wonder as she inspected the ingot. "Gromril. How in Grungi's name did Brandt get ahold of gromril?"

Now Weil understood why Brandt had been so certain of the dwarf's cooperation. Gromril, also called star-metal, was among the rarest metals in the world. It made the strongest weapons and toughest armor, that was without doubt. Only the ithilmar of the high elves could hope to match it in quality, albeit with different exceptional properties.

One of the Longbeards grumbled, "_umgi _lord probably stole it."

Another grumped, "there's abandoned holds all over the Borderlands, he could've just found it, you blowhard."

"Enough", Othri stopped their bickering. "The wheat Heartland trades with us keeps us fed and is given at fair price. Duke Commandant Brandt has earned the benefit of the doubt. Now. What does Brandt expect in return for this fine gift?"

"Put as simply as possible, my lady, he wants your help in attacking the Cretzian capital of Spite in order to stop the raids on those very wheatfields that keep you fed", Weilstadt informed her. "The Commandant wants a temporary military alliance until Cretzia is destroyed. He hopes to muster and attack before Cretzia's allies, Westerly, can muster and ride to their aid. To do that, he needs dwarf help."

"Hah, he's smarter than most if he knows that", Othri laughed. "You may return to Heartstone and tell the Duke Commandant that I will muster my throng and be there before noon tomorrow. Once we're there, we'll be ready to attack as soon as Brandt is. However, make it known to him that now dawi will be taking orders from his people. We'll cooperate, but we won't be under his command."

"I'll make it crystal clear, my lady", Weilstadt promised, fighting back on a grin. Oh, how he had missed the blunt honesty of dwarfs. At least you never had to wonder what was on their minds.

"Good man", Othri complimented, flashing a genuine smile. "You two should be commended for bringing such valuable cargo here without taking it for yourselves. Most _umgal _would have tried to break these chests open and see what it was for themselves."

Weil bowed in gratitude, "suppose that's just how I was raised, my lady", he stood up straight, "we'll deliver your message to His Grace. We'll be seeing you in the battle to come, then."

"Gods go with you, sirs", Othri wished them well, _thunking _her gauntlet against her breastplate.

Weil and Ac mounted up and rode out of the dwarf hold as Thane Othri started bellowing orders to her men, gathering them for war.

The two adventurers rode away from the dwarf hold in good spirits. The talks had been a breeze. One would have a better chance at moving an Imperial greatship across the seas with just a ladle than getting a dwarf to do something they didn't want to do. Blessedly, the gromril had put Othri into the right mood. Weil couldn't help but be a little put off by how easy it was, though.

"I have a thought", Weilstadt said as the hooves of their steeds tromped against the path.

"Is this an uncommon occurrence?" Aclan inquired.

"A-haha. You slay me", Weil gruffed. "No, I'm pretty certain Brandt might betray us."

"Ah. Indeed, I was having similar thoughts. Why do you think so?"

"I know it's weird, but he's been a little too friendly. He had this plan already so perfectly laid out, with the gromril and everything. He wouldn't be willing to give up the gromril if he wasn't going to be gaining something even more valuable." Weilstadt reasoned out.

Aclan nodded slowly. "That makes sense. Should we attempt to slay Tharlas on our own?"

Weilstadt shook his head. "The armies are our best bet. This could be nothing more than paranoia. Brandt might not even be that devious. I don't know. Things are just so strange down here. I feel like the wariness is something in the air that infects you."

"The Realm of Chaos is a reflection of the emotions of all the races of the world, and it is a realm that exists closely to our own", Ac sagely recounted. "It affects different parts of the world in different ways at different times...my point being that you could very well be correct in your thinking, Volker."

"Hm", Weil grunted. "Well, let's just keep our eyes open and sleep with the door locked. Not much else we can do."

* * *

The Duke Commandant had been overjoyed to hear of Thane Othri's cooperation. So overjoyed, in fact, that he sent Weil and Ac along with a note marked with his seal to the nicest of Heartstone's inns, the Lonely Barrel. Apparently, the note demanded that Weil and Ac be given a room and all the victuals they could consume free of charge. When Weil insisted on paying, the dumpy, watery eyed little owner almost perished with fright before assuring the two adventurers that it was a great deal less trouble to just go along with it.

Weilstadt and Aclan eventually turned in for the night and were sound asleep, completely unaware of what went on outside their room.

The man that had been watching them from his seat in the inn's common room was an everyman, of sorts. Marco's features were plain and forgettable. He did not need to hide his face or mask his voice. He had gotten very good at blending.

Later that night, when Marco was certain his targets would be asleep, he made his way outside. Marco was just going home after a late night in the pub, of course. He was only taking the alley because it was a shortcut back to his dwelling, naturally.

Once in the alley and out of sight, Marco climbed onto the roof of the merchant's house behind the inn. With a catlike leap, Marco jumped and took hold of the eave of the Lonely Barrel's roof. With one hand, he drew a thin-bladed dagger. In the Border Princes, glass was a luxury, so even nice inns usually covered their windows with shutters, at most. Thus, Marco could just slip his blade between the shutters and flick the latch open to enter the room. His employer had told him he only needed to kill one of the adventurers. If both died, though, that was two peoples' worth of belongings to sell off. Marco's mother had always told him "waste not, want not."

Marco smiled as he felt the latch open. He began to use his dagger to slowly open the shutter.

The assassin barely managed to suppress a cry as a boot crushed the fingers of his hand up on the eave. Marco used his lean strength to try to haul himself up and stab the offending foot or leg, but another boot kicked his knife hand and broke several fingers. The dagger fell to the ground one-story below.

Marco looked up through eyes blurred by tears of pain. A shadowy figure loomed over him with a drawn bow.

"Who sent you?" A hushed voice asked.

"Go...plow...yourself…", Marco seethed.

The boot ground against his hand. Marco whimpered, still instinctively trying to be quiet through the excruciating pain.

"Tell me and I'll let you go", the voice demanded. The bowstring creaked.

Marco realized just how precarious his situation was. Oh well. It wouldn't be the first time he sold out an employer to save himself.

The assassin answered the shadowy archer.

After a pause, the shadow said, "now I'll let you go. Have a nice fall, _amigo._"

An arrow pierced Marco's forehead. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The mysterious archer faded into the night, satisfied the threat had passed for now. It wasn't as fun as using her rifle, but a bow got the job done.

Weilstadt woke, yawned, and looked over at the window. He got up and wandered over to it, mumbling to himself about needing to drink less as he closed the shutter and latched it. At least it wasn't Ac that found it. The elf would be complaining about Weil forgetting it until the end of days.

* * *

Thane Othri had been true to her word. She had mustered an impressive force of over thirty dwarfs for battle. Brandt had even more troops on the march, surpassing fifty. Weil still probably would have taken the dwarfs in a straight up fight between the two forces. Brandt's men looked battle-hardened, there was no denying, but they were a motley mishmash of different armaments and armor. Weil saw a few halberds, a Kislevite saber, even a Hochland long rifle. They were dirty, their equipment adequate but much of it showing signs of poor maintenance. The Heartlander soldiers were a bunch of individuals fighting on the same side, but not fighting _together_.

The dwarfs of Karak Klon marched in precise lockstep. Most carried a _thrund_, a one-handed axe, and a round shield. Their chainmail was glittering and strong. They sang songs in the harsh and guttural dwarf language, Khazalid, in unison as they marched. Weil knew when battled came upon them, the dwarfs would fight as one. A few of them guarded a small wagon pulled by a couple of mules.

The Heartlanders led the way on the march across the plains. The rolling hills flattened out and sparse trees began springing up from the sandy soil. It was a fairly nice day, all things considered, perhaps a little on the warm side, though intermittent clouds shaded the marching "army" from the sun.

Weil and Ac rode up near the front alongside General Nuncio. The Duke Commandant had decided that his presence was needed in Heartstone in case the attack failed and a punitive strike was launched by the enemy. Weil had expected Othri to rebuke Brandt for sitting out, but she did no such thing.

After three hours of marching, they arrived at their destination. The town of Spite, at first glance, was quite reminiscent of Heartstone. Its outer wall and approximate size were very similar. However, Spite was situated on a cliff overlooking a river full of silty water. It rose in elevation, making some kind of manor house at the cliff's edge visible beyond the wall. That was likely the seat of Tharlas, then. Even from a mile away, Weil could see people moving on the walkways behind the walls of Spite.

The joint Heartland and Karak Klon force stopped just outside of bow range from the walls. Both commanders addressed their forces in very different ways.

"_Dawi _of Karak Klon! We owe a debt to our _umgi _neighbors", Othri lifted her voice into an almost operatic cadence. "Not only do their fields feed our people, but they have brought us one of the greatest gifts that even two _dawi _could exchange; gromril. Such an action must be honored, and such a debt must be paid. If it must be paid here in glorious battle, then so shall it be. Let's show these flighty, raiding cowards what happens when the sons and daughters of the Karaz-Ankor march to war!"

The dwarfs hammered their weapons against their shields, chanting, "_khazuk! Khazuk! Khazuk!"_

Meanwhile, General Nuncio's words were few, spoken in an intimidating, slithering voice. He was heard not because he was loud, but because none of his soldiers dared to speak over him.

"You know the rule; no looting until the town is ours. Focus on the plowing battle", Nuncio commanded. "Anyone does otherwise…", his fingers played about the grip of a curved knife on his waist.

The mercenaries of Heartland did not cheer, but readied their weapons and straightened their backs.

Weil and Ac dismounted, leaving their horses with the few others that had been ridden by some of the Heartlanders in the hands of the rear guard. First, Weil ensured the small salt cask that would preserve their bounty's head was secure. They then joined the Heartlanders' formation and waited, watching the battle plan play out before them.

The dwarfs acted first. From their wagon, six dwarfs picked up rune-marked kegs. They were big enough that each dwarf had to carry the keg over their shoulders. Once they had their burdens, the other dwarfs formed up around them.

"Shields up!" Othri shouted.

"_Khazukan kazakit, HA!" _The dwarfs chanted. They lifted their shields, forming a protective barrier over their heads. Those on the outside of the formation held their shields so only their legs were exposed.

"Forward!" Othri ordered.

The dwarfs began a new chant. "_Ho! Ha! Ho! Ha!"_

Slowly, the dwarf force began marching toward the gates of Spite. They had not gone far when a volley of arrows rained down upon them from the Cretzians manning the walls. The arrows pinged off the dwarfen shields, almost none of them finding a way through. Weil heard at least one dwarf bellow in pain, but the struck dwarf did not fall. So it was for a few minutes as the dwarfs made their advance. By the time they had reached the gate, only two dwarfs had fallen from the formation. The _dawi _reached the gate. Now holding still, their shield wall was even more solid. Arrow after arrow soared in from above only to be thwarted by steel. After a few more minutes of work, the dwarfs started marching away from the gate. They had left the six kegs against the big doors. There was a fuse attached to each one, with all six fuses coming together and being spooled away from the gate in a long line. The archers divided their attention between the dwarfs and trying to sever the fuse with arrows, but none could hit such a small target with the required precision.

Finally, when they were a safe distance away, the dwarfs stopped yet again. One of them lit the fuse and it rapidly burned down its length, coming to the barrels laid against the gate.

The explosion that followed was blinding, the thunderclap of the detonation setting Weil's ears to ringing. A fireball clawed into the air and sent burning pieces of wood flying in every direction. A cheer went up among the allied forces about to attack Spite. The dwarfs fanned out of their formation, taking up their _thrundal _and firing a volley at the stunned archers on the walls. Many of them fell out of sight, though whether it was from getting hit or just ducking for cover was hard to tell.

Weilstadt didn't hear the order, but the Heartlanders charged as one big mass heading for the gates before the smoke had even cleared. The two adventurers ended up near the back of the formation. General Nuncio was right behind them, a morning star in his right hand and a kite shield strapped to his left arm.

The immediate charge had been a wise idea. Just beyond the gates, the Cretzians that had been massed to repel any incursions had been scattered by the blast. The soldiers of Cretzia weren't all that different from those of Heartland, though each of the Cretzians wore an ivory colored headscarf or bandana about their faces. The Heartlanders tore into the disorganized mob of Cretzians. Arrows came down from the walls behind them but it was not enough to stop the onslaught. Weil had seen his fair share of fights, but this was the largest battle he'd ever been a part of. It was almost a massacre, really. The Sewer Jack didn't even get a chance to come to grips of the Cretzians before the defenders broke and fled. The sight of such a one-sided slaughter made Weil a little sick to his stomach.

Nuncio's threat had had its intended effect. The Heartlanders did not fan out to attempt to loot the houses of the screaming, terrified citizens of Spite. Instead, they kept right on the heels of the fleeing Cretzians. The white-hooded warriors were cut down as they tried to flee. The Heartlanders were laughing and cajoling their enemies as they pursued them down the main avenue of Spite. It was the very definition of anti-climatic, really. Not that Weilstadt was complaining about that. This meant they'd get to Tharlas that much faster.

The manor was coming up. Unlike Brandt's tower, the manor was much like a noble's dwelling that you might find in a city. It was surrounded by a wrought iron fence topped with sharp, spear-like points rather than a proper wall. There was a small force of Cretzians waiting on the other side of an open set of wagon-sized gates. These did not concern Weilstadt. What concerned him was the dark-robed figure in the center of the Cretzians.

A hand grabbed Weilstadt's shoulder.

"Move", Aclan snapped the word off even as he yanked Weilstadt out of the street and into an alleyway.

Thank Ranald that Ac had done so. The robed figure waved her hands and lifted a staff of twisted, charred wood above her head. Bolts of black fire erupted from the sorceress's staff, arcing over the retreating Cretzians and falling among the advancing Heartlanders. Those struck by the bolts screamed as they were reduced down to nothing but bones within seconds. The mage did not stop there. Fell words of power echoed at the edge of hearing across Spite as another spell was cast, sending a ghostly, crackling sword spinning in a wide arc through the middle of the mercenaries. The spectral blade hewed through a dozen of them, bisecting some in twain in a gruesome display.

"Dark magic. The Wind of Dhar", Aclan said to Weilstadt as the two of them peeked out from their cover. "Another druchii. I don't recognize them. Where is Tharlas?"

The Cretzians rallied. Those that had been fleeing turned around and attacked, joined by their comrades that had been waiting inside the gate. The sorceress began chanting again. Faint viridian light outlined the Cretzian soldiers as they struck with spear, sword, and axe. The defenders were fighting with renewed vigor and courage, meeting the superior numbers of their foe with animalistic ferocity. Now it was the soldiers of Heartland that were being pushed back.

"Get your crossbow", Aclan suggested as he nocked an arrow upon his bow. "We strike down the sorceress."

Weilstadt was already doing so, "you mean you can't hit him on your own?"

"There is wisdom in certainty, dustling", Aclan groaned. He angled his bow and unleashed an arrow. Weil lost sight of the missile in the darkness, but the sorceress did not flinch as she maintained the spell that powered her allies' fury.

"Gods, I thought elves were marksmen?" Weil snorted. He aimed his crossbow and loosed the bolt. Again, the sorceress did not react.

"You were saying?" Aclan quipped as he drew his bowstring back.

"I'm not the one that's going around calling folk 'dustling' all high and mighty", Weilstadt rebutted. He put his foot through the stirrup on the front his his crossbow and yanked the string back as Aclan fired again. The sorceress glanced about herself. The arrow had come close.

"Dammit", Aclan swore.

Weil set another bolt upon the string of his weapon. He unleashed the projectile.

The sorceress threw up a shimmering shield that flickered as the bolt struck it. The light slowly faded from around the Cretzians. About that time, the stout but slow-footed dwarfs finally caught up with their human allies and entered the fray. The Cretzians line bowed as the arrival of reinforcements damaged their morale.

There was a bloodcurdling cry as the sorceress twirled her staff about herself and punched a hand toward the sky. Smoky clouds formed above the allied attackers. Smoky, insubstantial..._things_ ripped free from the clouds. They were like tentacles but covered in barbs and ending in large hands tipped with eight taloned fingers. These abominations grasped unfortunate souls, rending their flesh and hauling them up into the cloud, never to be seen again.

This spell alone might have at least broken the attackers if not for Aclan's arrow that punched into the mage's chest. Instead, as the arrow struck home, one of the bladed limbs shot out from the cloud, wrapping completely around the sorceress. The scream that came from their lips was high-pitched and despairing as she was pulled into the clouds. The clouds then dissipated.

Weilstadt was already drawing his swords, running down the edge of the street and joining the battle against the Cretzians on the flank with Aclan right behind him. He had only stricken one of them down when those few that were still left finally broke and ran for the manor house behind them.

"Storm the manor!" Nuncio actually yelled for once. "Root them out! Bring me the Maharani's corpse so I can spit on it!" He faced the dwarfs, "Thane Othri, hold the gate against counterattack."

"I beg your pardon, manling?" Othri retorted.

Nuncio closed his eyes and amended, "would you please hold the gate for us?"

"Certainly, manling", Othri said. She formed her soldiers across the gate, a line of _thrund _wielders behind a line of shieldbearers. The dwarfs had lost a third of their number at this point. By now, fires had started in several places across the town, caused by the burning debris from the destroyed gate, were growing larger.

The Heartlanders were smashing windows and kicking in the front doors, streaming into the mansion like people possessed.

"Should we follow?" Weil asked his partner as he once more finished up reloading.

"Tharlas won't let herself get trapped like that", Ac said with certainty. "Let's circle around back first." He took off at a run, hefting his greataxe. Weil was close behind him.

The two adventurers ran around the manor, passing by heavily cushioned furniture that was clearly meant for laying out and lounging. As they reached the back, they caught sight of their target. A tall, lithe woman clad in diaphanous white silks. An elaborate, golden headdress crowned her head, hiding her pointed ears. The curious crossbow she was carrying was a greater concern to Weilstadt, as were the four athletic looking human guards wearing nothing but waist clothes. The group of five was headed past yet more clusters of furniture, statuary, and even a fountain, all placed in a mind boggling, seemingly random order. Ac had said the druchii were a demented and eccentric bunch during the march to Spite. Whatever the case, Tharlas and her guards were hurrying to a wooden lift on the edge of the cliff.

"Tharlas!" Aclan exclaimed.

The druchii swivelled at the sound of her name. She reacted not unlike an angry cat.

"No...not you…", Tharlas hissed. "I take that back, actually", she did a complete turnaround, giggling madly, "now I can take my revenge on you!" The druchii lifted her crossbow.

Weil swore, kicking over a couch and falling behind it. Aclan ducked behind the fountain. A crossbow bolt skittered off the stone over Aclan's head. Weilstadt popped up to fire his one crossbow and was rather shocked at two things. The first was that one of Tharlas's guards leapt in front of her and took the bolt in the left pectoral. The second was the fact that the Ivory Maharani shifted her aim and fired _another _bolt immediately after her first shot. Being aimed at made Weil reflexively duck, but it was an instant too late. He felt the crossbow bolt carve a furrow across his scalp. A series of colorful words that likely made both his parents turn over in their graves erupted from Weil's lips as he curled back into cover. Blood was dripping rapidly down the side of his head, soaking through his hair.

"Volker!" Ac cried out in alarm.

"I'm good, Ac!" Weil assured his partner. Trying to reload would be too awkward. Options rapidly cycled through Weil's mind and none of them were good. He'd seen a repeating handgun once, but he'd never even heard of a repeating crossbow.

Weilstadt looked over to see what Ac was doing. The elf was nocking an arrow on the string of his bow as one of the nearly naked bodyguards was mounting the fountain to swing down upon Aclan with his swordstave. Weil caught sight of his partner laying out and firing an arrow into the attacker when the Sewer Jack saw another shape looming on the other side of the couch. Weil held his crossbow up in a warding gesture and felt the weapon jar in his hands as a blade impacted it and sliced halfway through it. The bodyguard standing just on the other side of the overturned couch lifted his weapon away, trying to shake the crossbow off the blade. Weil took up his spatha and stabbed up and backward into his attacker's stomach.

Mantling over the couch, Weilstadt kept a hold of his spatha put his other hand around the bodyguard's throat. The Sewer Jack pumped his legs, driving the bodyguard back. He felt several more crossbow bolts impact his human shield as he pushed the bodyguard toward his mistress. Weil heard the unmistakable sound of Aclan's axe cleaving a body apart. Shortly thereafter, Weil gave his meatshield a shove. The dying bodyguard flopped toward his mistress, who was forced to take a step back onto the lift she'd been running for. Tharlas hurled her empty crossbow at Weil, who caught the damn thing with his free hand like an idiot. Tharlas was already on the attack with a knife in each hand. Weil managed to deflect her first attack and dodge the second, dropping the crossbow and grabbing his gladius.

Unfortunately for the druchii assassin, this up close and personal combat with short blades was what he had been doing for a decade of his life. Tharlas was unnaturally swift, but Weil had a surety most humans didn't have when facing her. His swords matched her knives strike for strike. If he had tried to go on the attack it likely would have been different, but Weil focused solely on defense, trusting that…

Tharlas skidded back as Aclan's axe cleaved the air where she had just been standing. Weil followed after the axe, both his swords flashing. Tharlas parried both. Aclan attacked her again, now from behind. Tharlas dodged forward, her knives simultaneously meeting Weil's swords yet again.

Aclan's greataxe arced in from the side, half-severing, half-bludgeoning through Tharlas's neck. Both druchii head and druchii body fell to the ground.

Weil and Ac looked at each other. The elf had grim satisfaction written across his features as he looked down at the dead Maharani.

"We got 'er", Weil said. He thumped a fist against Ac's shoulder.

"Yes. We did", Aclan said with a nod. "Cadai be praised."

"Who?" Weilstadt asked.

"I shall explain it on the ride back to Helmgart", Aclan said. "We should ensure the battle is fully won. I shall grant you the honor of carrying the head."

"Gods, that makes us pretty much brothers", Weil snorted. He picked up Tharlas's fallen crossbow and slung it into place on his back. It was a fine weapon. His old one wasn't much use anymore, anyway. Brandt had said they could take their share of the spoils.

The pair of adventurers started making their way back around the house. They were met halfway by General Nuncio and a half-dozen battle weary mercenaries. The General was bleeding from a gash across his right ribs.

"It's done?" Nuncio asked.

Weil held up Tharlas's head. "Yep."

"Good." Nuncio said. "Now...hand over the head."

After a moment of incomprehension, Weil rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

"Dead serious", Nuncio assured him.

"Listen...I've got a pretty bloody bad headache right now. Just stand aside. Go loot the house. Get your gold that way", Weil advised.

"No", Nuncio retorted. "The head. Now."

"You're all willing to die for him?" Aclan asked the mercs. "You think you'll receive the shares he promised you?"

"It's that or death", Nuncio reminded his men.

Weil held up his spatha. He didn't like these odds.

A rifle fired. Nuncio's head exploded. The General's men, showered with gore, scattered in every direction. Weilstadt looked up to where he'd heard the shot. A hooded figure waved from a third story window on the side of the manor house..

"Think that makes us even. You're welcome, _amigo_", the shooter said, withdrawing her rifle from view. "See you around, eh?"

"Who...was that?" Aclan asked Weil.

"I...don't know", Weilstadt told a half-truth. The Estalian sniper he'd encountered close up in Lichtzeichen; it had to be her. He'd seen a Hochland rifle earlier but hadn't even thought to look at the one carrying it. Why was she here? More importantly, why was she protecting Weilstadt and Aclan?

"Let's get moving before anyone else gets any ideas." Ac suggested.

"Aye. Good plan. Let's talk to Othri", Weil said.

They approached the gate where the dwarfs held. There were a few corpses before them, three dwarfs and several Cretzians.

"Masters Weilstadt and Großbrucke", a sweat and dust stained Othri greeted. "That her? Hah! _Umgak skruf_", the Thane spat on the ground, "where's Nuncio?"

"Dead", Weil informed her. "You've fulfilled your end of the oath. If your soldiers have no interest in looting here, it's probably best for you to leave."

"Hm. You may be right, manling", Othri pondered. "We've given them the town. The rest is up to them. _Dawi!_ Move out! We've still enough daylight to tend to our fallen and make it home only a bit after dark."

"We'll be with you until Heartstone", Weil informed her.

They began their disembarkation from Spite. The fires had spread, the town was more ablaze by the second. Civilians panicked in the streets as their homes burned. Some fled out of the gates into the uncertain torment of the Borderlands. Corpses littered the main avenue.

Weil looked on all of this and felt himself despairing. It finally fully hit him. He'd played a major part in making this happen. This wasn't just stopping raiders and taking their plunder. Scores were dead, a few hundred more would likely also die soon. All this for a bounty of one-hundred crowns. Even the number felt like ash on Weil's tongue. How was this any different from those days of his youth that he'd tried so hard to scrub from his conscience?

"This is the way of it, sometimes, Volker", Aclan murmured, reading his mind. "Taking up the blade puts you on this path."

"I know, Ac", Weilstadt uttered. Just as he didn't know Ac's past, the elf didn't know much about Weil's before the watch. Ac couldn't be aware of exactly how well Weilstadt knew the facts the elf had said.

They left the burning town behind.

* * *

For a moment, Weil had though they'd accidentally gotten turned around.

The periodic clouds became a ceiling of grey while the surviving dwarfs marched behind Weil and Ac. A light drizzle had begun falling when they were an hour out from Heartstone. Dusk was rapidly approaching when a column of smoke became visible on the horizon.

Heartstone was burning. Though the rain had increased slightly, it was doing nothing to slow the flames. Ladders were propped against the town's walls. Bodies were strewn on the ground outside the walls. The Westers had stormed the town the old-fashioned way. It had cost them dearly, but with the majority of the town's strength gone, they could afford that cost. Even from this distance, the occasional clash of steel could be heard over despairing screams.

"Our agreement was to join the attack on Spite", Othri said. "Enough _dawi_ have fallen today. We're too late, regardless. You'd be wise to come with us, manlings. You can sup with us and rest in Karak Klon until morning."

Weil and Ac stared at the burning settlement. Weil thought of all the people in there who were losing their homes, let alone their lives. He wanted to ride ahead, charge in, and try to save people. He thought of Lady Francine, the frightened treasurer who was clearly a prisoner of Brandt's will. Was it worth abandoning them over Brandt's betrayal? Or has Nuncio acted of his own volition?

_Thinking of the damsel in distress and forgiving enemies again. _Weil thought to himself. _Hm. Seems Karolina wasn't off the mark to call me a white knight._

"It's no longer our fight, Volker. We'd only get ourselves killed", Aclan advised his partner. He turned his horse to follow the dwarfs as they marched away.

Weil gazed on Heartstone one last time before directed Dust to follow after his partner and the dwarfs. As he rode, a line from the opening chapter of his favorite book, _The Rising of Sir Marcellus, _came to mind. The protagonist's father was just about to leave for war.

_Sir Angelo, clad in the resplendent crimson armor of the Knight Encarmine, faced his son. He saw young Marcellus holding the dagger. The smile that crossed his face was melancholy and heavy._

_"Marcellus...my boy…", Angelo whispered. "You must choose your battles. Choose them wisely. Seeking battle in all things will only bring pain."_

_"How do you choose, father?" The boy asked._

_Angelo laughed mirthlessly. He tousled his son's hair in an affectionate way._

_"I'm still trying to figure it out myself", Angelo murmured, then left Marcellus on the front step_.

_He would never return._

* * *

_It was a long ride back to Helmgart. The sacking of both Spite and Heartstone weighed on me. I wondered at the fate of Brandt and Francine (less so about their porcine steward, whose name I cannot recall). So, too, did I wonder at the intentions of that Estalian assassin, and whether or not she would be encountered again._

_It was a dose of reality that I had desperately needed. In my self-driven quest for personal redemption, I had blinded myself to the way the world really worked. It was easy to forget these things when spending one's fighting days in a sewer for a long time. The world was not so easy to divide into good and evil, light and dark. One pursued their course and got swept away into things they never imagined or wanted by the whims of fate._

_Still, I was determined to remain on the adventurer's path. The bounty hunt had not gone as planned, but it was successful all the same. Fifty crowns was a hefty sum of money. It was enough to put some away in the Bank of Altdorf and still have plenty to repair my equipment and replace my second-hand breastplate with a new one of dwarf-forged steel._

_After that, our adventures continued in the Empire, for a time…_

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 4: Petty Kings and Forgotten Things."_


	4. The Long, Dim Road

**(Author's note: The Lord of the Rings story I mentioned at the beginning of Chapter 3 didn't pan out [nor did the two or three other projects I played around with, as is tradition]. So, I found myself drawn back to this tale. I hope those of you that give it a read enjoy it, and I thank you for giving it a chance.)**

_...of course, those rather petty jobs had paled in comparison to the ordeal back in the Borderlands those months ago that I spoke of earlier in this volume. The money I hadn't saved in the bank dried up rather quickly. It was hard to resist the temptations of good food and drink when I'd gone so long in my life without such luxuries, but it made the return to sparse victuals all the more bitter of a pill to swallow. _

_We arrived in Altdorf, but unfortunately a lead on a job to the north carried us out of the city before I could pay a visit to Lady Karolina as I'd promised I would. It was probably for the best, I assumed. No doubt she had simply been trying to be nice. I couldn't think of many noblewomen that wanted an inked up ruffian calling on them for tea._

_Regardless, we had Dust and Ellyria on the Imperial Highway, bound for the famed city of Middenheim. Apparently, an Imperial Magister was looking for people to join him on a large expedition into the Middle Mountains. _

_We would never reach Middenheim. Our progress would be arrested in the "Triplet Towns" of Brockel, Kupfengrube, and Guthugel, so called due to their close proximity to each other. The largest, Brockel, was the one directly on the Imperial Highway, and it was there our little...diversion occurred._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 4: Of Petty Kings and Forgotten Things"_

* * *

Even as the sun was setting in the west, the bright lights around the cluster of a score of wagons was dazzling. The wagons were big and fully enclosed, like small cabins on wheels. They were roughly circled in the grass of the roadside. Men and women with olive skin and dark hair occupied the area. All wore loose sleeved shirts under incredibly bright, multicolored vests. The men wore striped trousers and shoes with pointed toes. Many of the women were walking around barefoot, their midriffs exposed and billowing, flamboyant skirts flaring out about their legs.

The wagons were a short distance away from the walls of Brockel. Weil and Ac looked on with interest as they approached.

"Who are they?" Aclan asked.

"Look like Strigany", Weilstadt guessed. "I've seen a few of them before. Most of them travel around on river barges but some have caravans like this one."

"Strigany…", Aclan repeated.

"Aye. Nomads. They wander around, live off the land, work odd jobs. Lots of folk think the lot of them are thieves and vampire worshipers", Weilstadt explained to his partner. "A lot of them _are _thieves because they don't have any other choice. Not that stealing's ever good, mind you. It's just...you know, one of those things", the Sewer Jack grew somber. Social commentary wasn't exactly his area of expertise, but he felt like the Empire could handle the Strigany much better by giving them places to settle. It probably wasn't anywhere near that simple. Weil abandoned that line of thought.

"Ah, good sirs, good sirs! A mere five shillings for a ward against the spirits of Old Night!" One of the Strigany advertised, holding up a bone talisman on the end of a hemp string. Curiously, she had an Estalian accent. Most Strigany kept to the relatively mild climate of the southern Empire.

"The only thing that shall guard against is common sense", Aclan replied to the trinket peddler.

"Aha! For your wisdom, only three shillings!" The peddler woman said to their backs as Weil and Ac rode past.

"Can't fault her for lack of adaptability, I s'pose", Weil commented.

The two adventurers rode through the southern gate of Brockel and dismounted their horses. The town was strangely crowded. People were swarming through the streets, carrying drinks and food and loudly carrying on. They made way for the horses, but the going was slow.

"Hm. What's going on here, I wonder?" Weil mused, jumping slightly as fireworks went off a few streets over.

"Festival of some kind, it seems", Aclan noted, disinterested in the fact. He wore his favored leather cap as he usually did when they were out in the more provincial areas. The average peasant didn't _dislike _elves, insomuch, but it was much better for them to think they were just dealing with a rather pretty looking human fellow.

"Ah, it's the first day of spring, I'd wager", Weilstadt realized. "What's the matter, Ac? Not in a merrymaking mood?"

"Have you known me to 'make merry' since we have been working together?" Aclan asked his partner.

Weil shrugged, "never too late to start, my friend. Hah, before you know it we could have with an ale in one hand and a wench in the other, the proper human way!"

Aclan snorted lightly. "If it's the proper human way, why haven't I ever seen you with a wench in your other hand?"

Weil flushed a little, "hey, I need the free hand to hold a second ale."

"Weilstadt!" A new voice called out as if excited.

Weil, startled, looked ahead to see the source of the address. It was a Strigany woman dressed in the same style of vest, shirt, and skirt as her kinsmen, heavily favoring sunburnt orange and cobalt blue in her garments. A matching bandanna held her dark hair back from her face. She had a curved sword sheathed at her side. Try as he might, Weilstadt couldn't help but notice the oncoming woman's defined abdominal muscles.

The Strigany woman approached, saying, "if it isn't my best, oldest, most heavily armed, and imposing friend! Oh, how I've missed you, _amigo_." She walked right up to Weil and threw her arms around his waist, pulling the Sewer Jack into a hug. Weil's heart leapt into his chest. He saw Aclan shift position, checking to see if the woman had any weapons in her hands.

"Wh-...wha-...?" Weil tried to say. Then it hit him. That voice. _Amigo._

Under her breath, the Strigany woman whispered, "help me…"

Looking over the mysterious sniper's head, Weilstadt caught sight of a group of five men that he was quite familiar with. He may not have known them personally, but he knew them very well. He'd been one of them for about six years, after all. They were scruffy, angry looking chaps. All had at least one tattoo; two of them had just as much, if not more, ink than Weil did. Though Brockel itself was not quite big enough to really support organized crime, the fact that the other two Triplet Towns were so close gave those with ambition a chance to spread their tendrils.

All five of them first glared angrily at the Estalian...Strigany...whatever she was, sniper. Then, their gazes shifted up to Weilstadt and Aclan. Weil's protective side reared its head at once, but he tried to think rationally. The last thing he needed to do was accidentally make himself party to one of this sniper's crimes and anger the local strong man.

Weil extricated himself from the Strigany woman's grip and stepped in front of her, handing Dust's reins to Ac. "Evenin', gentlemen. What seems to be the hurry? Plenty of fun to be had elsewhere around here tonight."

"Hand that thieving gypsy over", one of the thugs growled, stepping up. A little over ten feet were between them. Passersby seemed to understand something was up and they gave the altercation a wide berth.

"Thieving, you say", Weil said, looking back at the Strigany. She could certainly handle a rifle, and Weil had a feeling the sniper was at least a fair hand with that sword. Why was she afraid of a bunch of backwater thugs that had likely never really been in a knock down, drag out fight? "What did she steal?"

"Don't plowing matter, scab", the talkative thug snapped. "Hand 'er over or we'll be making splinters outta your finger bones, then we'll take a hammer to your boyfriend's knees for good measure."

"You're welcome to try, dustling", Aclan quipped under his breath. The toughs didn't seem to hear him.

Weilstadt smiled in a falsely friendly way. "Friend. Unless you give me more information, I have to assume you're full of shit and you're just upset she wouldn't give you a roll."

"Knock 'is plowin' teeth out, Hans!" One of the other thugs chuffed. The others agreed, urging their spokesman on.

The (relatively) intellectual thug, Hans, crossed his arms and gave a crooked grin. "You don't know who runs things 'round here, do you, scab?"

"I do believe these are Graf Krieche's lands", Weil played dumb.

Hans let out a spiteful belly laugh, "all the Graf can do is scratch his arse and drool since a beastman clubbed 'im over the head. Herr Ziegman is the one that runs the Triplet Towns. The filthy gypsy behind you stole from 'im. Hand the bitch over and I'll let you to walk away."

Weil chuckled, "leave the girl alone, mate. I'm sure there's a mule in one of the corrals that's drunk enough to give you the time of night."

Hans flushed beet red as his lackeys made shocked faces. Weil knew the man's type. He was used to being one of the biggest dogs in the kennel around here. Weil didn't like to be arrogant about his fighting skill, but he was almost positive he could take this blighter and send his cronies running. Dealing with the consequences of fighting and possibly killing someone in the streets, however, were another thing. Aclan came to be level with Weil's shoulder, holding the reins of both horses in one hand and letting his hand rest on the hilt of his sword with the other. These thugs knew that, even if they fought and won, they would not be coming out the other side unscathed. None of them wanted to be among the casualties.

"You best be watching your back, friend", Hans seethed. "C'mon, you useless louts."

Hans led his meatheads away, filtering into the crowd.

"Whew…", the sniper breathed out. "Close one."

"Who the hell are you", Weil began, wheeling on the Strigany, "and why the hell did you just rope us into that?"

The sniper flashed a dazzling, innocent smile, "Come now, _amigo, _what could I possibly want fr-..."

Knowing full well he wasn't going to be getting a straight answer, Weilstadt sighed so hard that the Dark Gods probably got woken up from any naps they might be having. He took Dust's reins back. "You know what? I don't care. Ac, looks like most of the horses are getting taken left down that street up there…"

"If you want your horses to still be there in the morning, you probably shouldn't take them to Herr Ziegman's corral", the Strigany woman warned. "That's how he makes his money. Triplet Town Clydesdales are big coin. Got so rich that he bought out or drove off every other horse trader in the Towns."

Weil growled deep in his throat, feeling his back and shoulders tense up. It was too late in the day for them to make it to the next town, and camping overnight in the Reikwald was out of the question.

Aclan stepped in. "Tell us your name, Miss."

"Desideria", the Strigany replied, curtsying melodramatically. "Des, if you prefer."

"What do you suggest we do if we can't take our horses to the corral?" The elf asked.

"You can keep them with our horses and be guests of the caravan for the evening", Des offered. "Probably safer for you, given how you just threatened Herr Ziegman's right hand man."

"I did so on _your _behalf; the woman who tried to shoot me in the head, I might add", Weilstadt snapped, pointing to his left ear, "it still rings when things are completely quiet, you know."

"It was just a disagreement between two professionals, no?" Des waved it off.

"Tried to shoot you in the…", Ac trailed off. "You were at Lichtzeichen." His grip on his sword tightened.

"Ah...on second thought, let it go, Ac", Weil said, putting a hand on the elf's arm. "She's also the one who saved us from Nuncio."

"And I killed the assassin that tried to come in through your window the night before that battle", Des pointed out.

"Assassin that…", Weil blinked. "...I _knew _I hadn't left the window unlatched", he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, "wait, either way, you said we were even back in Spite, so I don't know why you even sought me out."

Des gave Weil a flat look, "if it's really that inconvenient to you, I'll owe you again. There. Are you happy? Sorry I didn't want to cut those sons of bitches to ribbons and endanger my clan."

_Dammit. _Weil thought as guilt wormed through his belly.

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that", Weilstadt said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He'd been planning on a trip to Middenheim where Ac and he might just make their big break. Now this was dropping out of the blue to derail everything and Weil was losing control of himself trying to adjust. "Look, I'm sorry. Just surprised me and I didn't expect to see you here."

After a moment's consideration, Des shrugged one shoulder and said, "I know it wasn't entirely fair of me to drag the two of you into the problem. I am sorry as well. I was just thinking of the well-being of my kin, first and foremost. I had to use an opportunity when it was presented."

"That's fair. So...if the offer's still on the table, we'd be honored to be your guests for the evening." Weil said at length.

"It certainly is", Desideria assured him, another smile wiping her upset expression away. She breezed past the two adventurers, "please, come with me. My clan is always eager to share the fire with new faces." Weilstadt and Aclan watched her go by, the former of the two unable to help but notice the way she was emphasizing the sway of her hips.

"Do you trust her?" Aclan inquired.

"I'd sooner trust a halfling with a freshly baked pie", Weilstadt uttered. "In case you haven't noticed, though, not having a choice has been a running theme in this partnership."

"At least I'm not the only one that is cognizant of that fact", Aclan said, turning Ellyria to follow after Desideria.

* * *

The Strigany of the Lakatos Clan were oddly jubilant to be welcoming guests. The moment Weil and Ac were brought into the ring of wagons and introduced by Desideria, the Strigany stopped what they were doing and offered a greeting so enthusiastic it was almost a cheer. Weil had a drinking horn full of ale fairly pressed into his hand and two younger clan members took Dust and Ellyria over to a line of hitching posts before a trough of water.

It was as if they'd stepped into another, tiny town contained within the caravan circle. There were clothes drying on lines strung between wagons. People sat on stumps and stools, peeling potatoes, whittling wood, or mending garments. A lanky Strigany man was underneath one of the wagons, spreading tar across the underside. A trio of young children were scampering around and playing some game that only they knew the rules of. Desideria was speaking rapidly in her native language to an old, skin and bones elder that was sitting beside a large fire pit in the center of the camp. At present, the various parts of an entire cow were being roasted on heavy duty spits above the fire.

Weilstadt wasn't sure why it shocked him, but the Strigany were just so...happy. When they laughed, it was boisterous and full-bellied. The playing children went by a middle-aged clansman that was chopping firewood on the edge of the camp, who paused in his labors to look at them, cross his eyes, and stick out his tongue, much to the delight of the young ones. A teenage couple were holding hands and giggling as they came out of the forest with two buckets full of water.

Weil looked over all of this and smiled a genuine smile, even as a deep, longing ache settled upon his heart. He took a pull from the drinking horn he'd been given. It was sharp in its sweetness, stronger than most wines. Not terrible, but not the best thing he'd had.

"I see you like the _tuica_!" Desideria declared as she approached the pair of adventurers. "Just wait 'til after dinner when we break open the casks that haven't been watered down. Anyhow, Grandfather says you are more than welcome to stay with us until tomorrow morning. He'd actually like to have a word with you, if you wouldn't mind. Come, come!"

Des led Weil and Ac to the ancient man by the fire. His chin and cheeks were covered with white, bristly whiskers. Years of sun and wind had deeply tanned his skin. When they drew near, the old man said some words in Estalian the adventurers.

"Uhm...sorry, I only speak Reikspiel", Weil said.

"Sadly I don't have any Estalian, either", Ac informed them.

"Oh, have no fear, I'll translate. Grandfather has not had the chance to learn Reikspiel, we haven't been in the Empire long", Desideria said quickly. She rattled off some words to Grandfather, who nodded and replied to her in Strigany. "Grandfather welcomes you to our caravan and thanks you for saving, ah, 'our problem child.'" Des blushed a little bit.

"Child? I thought he was your grandfather?" Weil asked.

"Hah! Grandfather is grandfather to us all, no matter the blood", Des said.

"Well, tell him it was no trouble and that you saved our lives, as well", Weil said, not sure if he should look at Des or Grandfather.

Des translated, "one way or another, Desideria says that the two of you are formidable warriors. How would you feel about helping us reclaim some of our cultural heritage?"

Weil, his curiosity admittedly piqued, asked, "what do you mean?"

Grandfather said through Desi, "our clan has been wandering Estalia for the last few generations. However, as is tradition among we Strigany, when our clan became too large, we split ourselves and formed a new caravan. That new clan, the Kaslov Clan, came north, to the Empire. Their leader, Rodrigo, was a keeper of our history, as every Clan Elder should be. However, to simplify the tale, their caravan was attacked by beastmen and almost wiped out. Rodrigo and some others managed to hide the historical relics and treasures that were in their care in a cave before they fled. Though Rodrigo did not make it, three of the survivors made it to us in Estalia. We came this far north to reclaim those treasures. We would like your help, Seigneurs Weilstadt and Aclan."

"As much as I would like to say yes at once, Volker and I must make a living", Aclan said.

"Rest assured, some of the treasures are more mundane items that were simply quite valuable but not practical to flee with", Grandfather said through Desi. "I will gladly pay you with an appropriate number of those."

Aclan nodded, satisfied with that answer, apparently. Weilstadt felt it was a fair deal, too. "We'll help you", the Sewer Jack agreed.

Grandfather smiled. Des spoke for herself, "you have no idea how much this means to us. Whether it's just another job for you or not, you are saving history that might otherwise be lost forever. Ah, but we can talk about it more in the morning, can't we? Come, eat, drink, and be merry, for who knows where the road leads tomorrow!"

She reached out, took Weil by the arm, and started hauling him toward where the Strigany were keeping their booze.

That encouraging attitude did not let up. After night fell, the festive attitude only increased as both the town of Brockel and the Lakatos Clan celebrated the first day of spring. Weil had several more horns of _tuica_ pushed into his hands (apparently it was made from plums). He ate until he was almost bursting. There were so many new names and new faces, Weil could barely keep track of anyone. Aclan, ever aloof, remained on the edge of the festivities.

At some point, Weil was dancing along with an accordion and lute, though it was really just flailing, spinning, and laughing. Desideria took him by the wrists and tried to guide him through the steps but the big adventurer ended up tripping and taking them both down in a giggling heap.

Eventually, though, things died down. The adults who weren't too old sat up in small groups, drinking, smoking, and talking about "the old days". Weil listened intently to the stories as he always did. Des was right beside him, translating words or giving context to help his understanding. As the hours went by, Weil realized he had misjudged Desideria. She was a vibrant, caring person. She threw her entire being into whatever this caravan needed. Perhaps she _had_ stolen from that Herr Ziegman chap. It wasn't as if Weil could judge her for stealing from a crime boss, of all things.

As the night was finally coming to a close, Weil had just come back from relieving himself amid the nearby trees and decided one more little cup of unwatered _tuica_ would keep him warm on this chilly night. He obtained it and sat against the wheel of the wagon he'd be sleeping under. The Strigany on first watch took their positions around the camp.

Releasing a contented sigh, Weil sipped his _tuica_. He didn't particularly like the concentrated stuff, but as always, "free booze was free booze."

A pair of bare feet just barely visible beneath an orange and blue skirt unsteadily sauntered up. Weil wasn't the only one to hit the _tuica _hard.

"How does the night life of the Travelers stack up against the city?" Des asked, smoothing her skirt and plopping down beside Weil.

"It definitely has its charms", Weil said. His words took a little effort. He was definitely drunk. He hesitated, but decided to damn the consequences. "In fact, one of them just sat down beside me."

With an embarrassed smile, the Strigany sniper looked away and said, "I'm glad you think so", she looked around the camp. "I missed it. I missed it badly."

"Why'd, uh...why'd you leave?" Weil asked tentatively. "If I may."

Des thought for a moment, then, "simple, really. I wanted to make my fortune. I wanted to become wealthy and bring money back to my clan so we'd never have to worry about going hungry or needing to fix a wagon or what have you", she looked at the grass, "then...then one thing led to another and suddenly I was an assassin for hire. A 'markswoman', I called myself", she scoffed, "like it changes being a murderer."

In that moment, Desideria's words resonated deeply within Weil.

"You looked back and could see all the steps you took and couldn't for the life of you, figure out how you didn't see it coming, so you remembered the good intentions you started with and tried to convince yourself you still had them", Weil murmured.

Desideria looked over at Weilstadt, her lips slightly parted. "But others didn't, and still don't, care. They see you for what you were, in spite of leaving that life and trying to turn over a new leaf. So you fight all the harder to prove to the world that you have, indeed, changed. Even if it means the death of you."

"Exactly right", Weil confirmed.

"Hm. You understand better than most", Desideria said, sounding affirmed.

"I'm living it, lass. Just like you are", he said with a nod. He offered her a reassuring grin. "But, hey. We're both here. We're both on a new path…", he looked at the wagons, "some more literally than others."

"Some more…? Oh...Myrmidia's spear, _amigo_", Des put a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"Bad joke. Excuse me", Weil said with a chortle.

"There's no excuse for you, Volker Weilstadt. Nor should there be", Des proclaimed, looking over at the Sewer Jack. The flickering fire danced in her eyes and for a moment, nothing moved on earth or amid the stars above. Des broke the spell, "I have a question for you."

Snapping out of his stupor, Weil cleared his throat and said, "hit me with it."

"Back in Lichtzeichen. When you said you'd die for that noblewoman we were trying to...you know", Des cringed, but regained herself. "The intensity I saw in your eyes...you said she was worth dying for. Did you mean it?"

"Yes. I did", Weil answered easily.

"Why?"

"Because I swore I'd protect her. It wasn't Lady Karolina specifically, I would have done the same for anyone, or anything, else I promised to keep safe or retrieve or what have you. I don't have anything in this world but my weapons and my word", Weil waxed poetic. "The second's a lot more valuable than the first, and since it's the only thing of value I have left, I'll be damned if I'm not going to keep it. I suppose the weapons help with that."

Desideria made a peculiar face. Her eyes widened a little. Her nostrils flared out as she breathed through them.

"Weil…", Des whispered.

"Hm?"

Her right hand slid through the grass to cover Weil's left. The Sewer Jack almost jumped out of his skin with surprise.

"How would you like to sleep in a wagon tonight instead of on the ground?" Des inquired.

"Oh, uhm...sure, as long as I'm not putting anyone else out." Weil said.

The markswoman stared at him.

"What?" Weil asked.

Des lifted an eyebrow.

"Oooh, you meant...oh", Weil grew warm and it had nothing to do with the fire. "Uhm...yes. Yes, I would like that."

"There you go", Des giggled, standing up.

Weil stood up beside her. He whispered, "it's, ah...been a while."

Des whispered back, taking Weil's hands, "we'll just have to help each other remember, then, won't we?"

* * *

Weilstadt had not gotten much sleep and he was hungover. Normally, that would be a problem. Today, he couldn't care less. Even the potential dangers of the Reikwald couldn't dampen his spirits. They weren't in deep enough to truly be in among the darkened eaves of the Reikwald. The trees were spaced far enough apart that visibility wasn't terrible.

Five people were walking through the Reikwald. At the lead was Aclan with his longbow. Behind him were two Strigany men, Pitel and Sandru. Pitel struck Weil as a paranoid type, constantly glancing over his shoulder to see if they were being followed. Sandru was his polar opposite, who moved with an ease that suggested even a beastmen war herd would need to really come close to rouse him to swift action. Walking after Sandru was Desideria, who was cradling her Hochland rifle. Bringing up the rear was Weilstadt, his repeater crossbow at the ready. It had taken some trial and error to learn that he needed to treat the druchii weapon like his old crossbow; though he could speed out eight bolts in rapid succession, reloading the repeater was a long, drawn out process that was rarely feasible in the middle of combat.

The three Strigany had traded their bright garments for leather armor. Weil knew he could rely on Des's skill, but wasn't sure about Pitel and Sandru. Des had vouched for them. That would have to be enough.

Desideria glanced over her shoulder, looking back at Weil.

"Enjoying the view back there, _amigo_?" She asked.

"The forest is lovely this time of year, aye", Weilstadt replied with a certain nod.

Des looked like she had just run face first into a wall.

"Kidding", Weil assured her.

Des smiled as she rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning her attention back forward. Weil felt a sort of swooshing in his stomach. In his heart, he knew the truth of things. Desideria was a Strigany, committed to her wandering clan. Weil still wanted to continue his adventures with Aclan, seeing more of the world and learning more than he'd ever dreamed of. Things would not last long between them. They both knew that. Still, Weil intended to enjoy it for what it was, however long it would last.

More regarding their current objective, Des had revealed that she had, indeed, stolen from Herr Ziegman. Specifically, she had stolen an accurate map of the area around the Triplet Towns, which they needed to compare with a hand drawn map that had been made by Rodrigo. Weil really couldn't be upset. Crime tended to beget crime. The stash of Strigany treasure was, apparently, tucked away into some cave near a pond in the Reikwald. This group would not be trying to obtain the supposed treasure, but rather just scout out the location to see if it truly was there before mobilizing more help to collect it.

Thankfully, no beastmen showed up to make the passage difficult. After two hours, the five person expedition reached the pond. It was located before a hillock in the landscape, the top of which had a small waterfall tumbling down moisture smoothed rocks.

"Pretty like a painting", Weilstadt commented. "What now?"

Sandru said some words in Estalian.

"Through the waterfall", Des translated, then her own words. "We'll go first. You and Aclan watch our backs in case we were followed."

The three Strigany edged around the pond. Weil and Ac turned around, scanning the forest with their ranged weapons at the ready.

"Something's not right", Aclan said once the Strigany were out of earshot.

"You're not about to get on me for getting too close to our charge again or some such, are you?" Weil asked in a tired voice.

Aclan sighed, "Volker, I don't care who you try to wick, I'm more shocked that you actually managed it after all this time."

"Oh-ho!" Weil exclaimed. "Tell me how you really feel, Herr Sunshine."

"Regardless of your fragile ego, what I'm saying is that this was too easy." Aclan got them on track.

Weilstadt pursed his lips. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it for a second", Ac said. "Desideria steals from this Herr Ziegman and the man's thugs barely give a pursuit, when you think about it."

"You and I stopped them", Weil pointed out.

"If these three villages are under Ziegman's thumb, couldn't Hans have just mustered up some more thugs to come demand the Strigany hand Desideria over?" Aclan asked. "Yo

Weilstadt opened his mouth to refute that point, but realized he couldn't. It was a good point. "You think Ziegman wanted Des to get away for some reason?"

"Maybe", Aclan said with a slight nod. "It's this treasure for one reason or another. There has to be something special about it. Something's been tickling my memory about all this; the word 'Strigany'. I feel I've heard it somewhere before but I can't, for the life of me, put a finger on where."

Weil had learned to trust his elven companion's instincts. "Then it's probably a good idea we find this treasure, for one reason or another."

"Agreed", Aclan said.

After a short bit of time, Des called out, "we found the entrance!"

Weil motioned with his head. Aclan and he followed after the trio of Strigany, shimmying along a short ledge on the rocks beside the pond to find a fissure beneath the waterfall. While it was a difficult place to specifically find in the vastness of the forest, Weil couldn't help but notice that this fissure would be pretty easy for a random passerby to stumble upon, be they human, greenskin, mutant, or beastman. If it had been here for any amount of time, surely this trove or relics would have already been looted already. Now Weil really understood what had Aclan uneasy. Des and her kinsmen were too focused on the objective to take a step back and look at reality, the Sewer Jack feared.

Weil and Ac traveled through the narrow fissure in single file and emerged into a small chamber that was barely any larger than one of the Strigany's wagons. It was completely featureless in the muggy confines. The light creeping in from the open fissure was cast upon a solid wall of rock straight across from the entrance. There were jagged, strange markings in the rock that were clearly not natural.

"Sandru", Des prompted.

The easygoing Strigany approached the wall, drawing a belt knife. Before Weil or Ac could ask what he was doing, Sandru sliced open his palm. Arcane words started dripping from his mouth and Sandru smeared his hand across the surface of the wall. The jagged markings started to take on a sullen, ruddy glow. Weil felt a vibration in the floor of the chamber through his boots.

"Des…", Weil said in a warning tone.

"It's alright, Weil", Desideria promised him. "Sandru's not a warlock. Anyone with Strigany blood and the right words could have done this."

That didn't exactly make it alright, but they were too far along for the point to be argued. Weilstadt had to remind himself that he still knew pretty much nothing about Des or her clansmen, and their priorities would not line up in a sensible way in his own mind.

The wall of the cave slowly sank down into the ground, revealing a hallway that turned left and downward into the ground. Torches that flickered with heatless, smokeless flames of white fire were set into sconces on the walls.

Weil and Ac looked at each other. An agreement passed silently between them. Grandfather had not given them the full story, or perhaps not even the _true _story. Whether Desideria, Pitel, and Sandru were in cahoots or only had a partial idea was something else entirely.

"On...we go then. Sandru, keep watch here", Des said, no longer sounding so certain as she had before. It could have been genuine. It could have been a production. Dammit, Weil was starting to regret his newly founded emotional entanglement in this mess. Well, at the very least, Des likely wouldn't have left Sandru up to keep watch if they'd intended to turn on Weil and Ac. Then again, why would they bring Weil and Ac in on this just to turn on them?

_Just focus, Volker. _Weil thought to himself. _You're not a Witch Hunter, you're not going to solve this grand mystery anytime soon._

Desideria, Pitel, Weilstadt, and Aclan all descended down the twisting tunnel. Weil was reminded of the skaven tunnel up into the von Bauman estate that had invariably led to this new adventuring lifestyle. Hopefully, this tunnel would not lead to such a radically life changing event. It grew cool as they got deeper into the earth. The fact that these strange magical torches were still freely burning was not perplexing. Maybe Rodrigo had been a warlock of some kind.

"Did you have any idea this was going to be like...this, lass?" Weil asked Des.

"Honestly? I had no idea", Desideria answered, scratching her head. "I was expecting...well, a lot less. Something isn't right."

That was both reassuring and disturbing.

Finally, after about another three minutes of cautious walking, the quartet of explorers emerged into another chamber, this one about three times the size of the one above. It still wasn't exactly big enough to call a cavern, but there was enough room to stretch out. Four treasure chests sat in a neat line against the far wall. They weren't particularly large; about the size one would expect to find at the foot of a child's bed.

"I was expecting a small pile of relics. Rodrigo managed to have four chests full of treasure brought down here while being attacked by beastmen?" Aclan asked, more to himself than anyone else.

"Just...hold on. We don't have all the details of what happened. Maybe his clan managed to get these things in here before the attack happened", Des rattled off, growing more frustrated by the moment. She rapidly advanced toward the chests, Pitel on her heels.

"Hold on, lass, they might be trapped", Weil cautioned. He jogged past her. "It's something I saw in the Sewer Watch all the time in smuggler stashes."

"There doesn't appear to be anything trapping the room, at least", Aclan observed, walking close to the wall on the right of the chests.

Weil knelt down, inspecting the chest that was second from the right. There weren't any of the obvious signs of poison needles or spring-loaded crossbows. "This one's safe."

"Grandfather gave me a key." Desideria said uneasily. Weil shifted aside to give her access. The markswoman put the key into the slot and turned it. The lock clacked open and Weil lifted the lid. Both he and Desideria sharply drew in a breath.

The chest was empty.

"Volker!" Aclan hissed.

"Sorry you're too late, my lovelies."

Weilstadt leapt up and spun around, aiming his crossbow at the source of the voice.

That son of a bitch from the day before, Hans, was at the head of his little group of five cronies. Two of the dirty thugs had pistols, a third had a hunting spear. Hans was standing at the front of the group with a spiked blackjack club. Beside him, the fifth meathead had a wood chopping axe. One of the men with pistols had their weapon to Sandru's head. The Strigany was badly beaten and bruised. They were only about ten yards away.

Hans kept speaking, "treasure was here, at some point. Not all of you dirty gypos that got away from the beastmen left Brockel alive. Aye, your ol' mate Rodrigo was more 'n' happy to leave 'is own behind to save 'is own skin. How lucky for us the poor sod knew how to get in here, eh? Now...drop your weapons and your friend gets to keep his throat uncut, yeah?"

"What do you want from us", Desideria demanded to know, still aiming her rifle at Hans.

Hans guffawed, "c'mon, sweetheart. You really think Herr Ziegman is going to pass up this chance? It's only a matter of time before we figure out where your other stashes are."

"Other...stashes?" Des parroted, her fire lost amid confusion for a moment.

A crooked grin split Hans's mouth. "That's what your friend told us. It's the info he traded us in exchange for 'is life after we 'ad a little...chat last night. If you ain't happy about it, I suggest you take it up with 'im."

"What friend? You're not making any sense, just let us go!" Des cried.

A pistol cocked. Pitel pointed the firearm at Weil's head from the Sewer Jack's right.

Things made a little more now.

"Herr Ziegman speaks Estalian, I'm guessing", Weilstadt said, playing for time.

"Just enough", Hans confirmed, the very image of smug.

Des spoke some sharp words. Pitel's response was brimming with shame.

"He says they threatened to gather men and attack the caravan, so he lied about there being more relic troves", Desideria translated in a low, menacing whisper.

"We know it ain't a lie, gypo. Now, here's the deal. You're all going to be putting your weapons down. The gypsies are coming with me. You two pukes, you can just stay here with your tails between your legs and neither of you need to get killed", Hans laid out the terms. "You so much as breath in a way I don't like", he pointed a thumb toward Sandru, "we gut 'im."

Several tense seconds passed. Sandru choked out a few strained words in Strigany. Pitel snapped at him. Des joined in, shouting Pitel down. Sandru spoke, again. Weil definitely caught "Desideria" as the hostage Strigany spoke, but his words were cut off by the knife being dug further into his throat.

Des's knuckles were white as she gripped her rifle.

"Last chance", Hans threatened.

"Weil", Des murmured.

"What?" The Sewer Jack asked.

"Drop."

It took an instant, but he got it. Weil let his legs give out underneath him, a move he'd used more than once in situations like these. Pitel had not really been ready to shoot him in the head. The pistol went off over Weil's head, not as close to his ear as Des's had been, but still deafening in the enclosed space. Weil hit the ground, aimed, and fired a bolt up through Pitel's chin. At the same time, Des put a shot from her rifle through Sandru's shoulder, which went through the Strigany and into the thug behind him. Both of them toppled. Aclan had already loosed his arrow, plugging the other pistol wielding thug in the chest.

From his seated position, Weilstadt sighted down his targets before they could react to the sudden shift in the status quo. Weil put a quarrel in Hans' ribs and another in his gut. He shifted aim to the meathead with the spear and tagged him through the thigh and the chest. Aclan had, by now, put another arrow on his longbow and dropped the thug with the axe.

Just like that, it was already over. Herr Ziegman's thugs were dead or soon to be so, groaning on the ground.

"Sandru!" Des cried, dropping her rifle and hurrying to her kinsman's side. Weil followed after her. The markswoman dropped to her knees, speaking in soothing, cooing tones in her native language as Sandru clenched his teeth against the pain. He was bleeding profusely from his right shoulder. It probably wasn't fatal, but there were good odds he'd lose some usage of that arm.

Just to Des's right, the axeman thug was desperately clutching at the arrow embedded just under his breastbone. Aclan was standing over him.

"He can tell us where to find Herr Ziegman", Aclan suggested.

"Hm", Weil grunted, his adrenaline dying down. "That a good idea? He'll probably know we're coming."

"Not if his men don't come back to tell him. Not if we move swiftly. We can take him by surprise", Aclan reasoned. "If Hans was his right hand, then Ziegman likely doesn't have anyone of much skill left at his disposal. You and I have faced more difficult odds, I'd say. We can discover the location of the Strigany relics." There was an implied "if they really exist" that Ac left unspoken.

"True", Weil agreed. He crouched before the arrow-stuck thug, addressing him. "Herr Ziegman. Where can we find him?"

The man spat blood in Weil's face.

Weil wiped his face, nodding to himself. "Very well."

The Sewer Jack gripped the arrow in the meathead's gut and _twisted_. The thug screamed bloody murder, his cries degrading into sobs.

"South side of the corral in the middle of town!" The man cried out. "That's where his house is, his office overlooks the corral from the second floor, he spends most of his time their balancing the books! Shallya's bloody mercy, stop! Stop, please!"

Weil released the arrow. He then stood up and, after a couple words of prayer to Morr, put another bolt in the dying man's chest to ease his passing into the next world. It was dirty work, but necessary. Ranald's bones, how had this gotten so out of hand? They needed to get back to Brockel and…

"Weil, look out!" Des yelled.

A firearm went off. The Strigany woman blurred past Weilstadt before dropping to the ground. Past her, on the other end of Hans's group, the man Aclan had shot in the chest was holding his shaking pistol, grinning through bloodstained teeth.

Registering what had just happened, Weilstadt looked down at Desideria, who was curled in on herself, blood streaming over her hands. White-hot fury boiled up within Weil and he immediately fired the last two bolts in his crossbow into the man that had fired the shot. He didn't even check to see if the quarrels had killed their mark. Weil was beside Des, cradling her in his arms. The bullet had struck her almost dead center of mass and breached her armor. The Sewer Jack despaired. They were much too far from anyone who could even hope to save Desideria's life.

"All this…", Des gasped, "...over one coward's lie. I hope…", she coughed, "...I had better not see that bastard Pitel...on the other side."

"Y-you won't have to worry about that, lass", Weil insisted, brushing her hair from her rapidly paling face.

"Weil...", Des said, tears forming at the corners of her eyes as she reached up and took Weil's face in her hands, "...we both know what's...going to happen. It's alright. I'm not...I'm not scared. I'm ready."

Weil grit his teeth. No. Not like this. She didn't deserve to go like this.

"Back in Lichtzeichen...I saw that...that intensity...in your eyes", Des wheezed. The thumbs of her shaking hands lightly stroked Weil's cheeks. "I thought that, maybe...maybe it wouldn't be so bad...to see that look...pointed my way…", she laughed, which became another tearing cough. "You...spared me. You gave me...a second...chance. Heh...and I got...to see that...look. Even if it was...only...once…"

She was growing weaker but kept smiling. Weil wiped the tears from her eyes. He tried to find the words but nothing came to him.

"Haha...don't worry...", Desideria's voice was barely a whisper, "this...makes us...even..._amigo…_"

Des's hands fell from Weil's face. She breathed out. She did not breath in again.

"Desideria…", Weil breathed.

Her eyes stared, sightless, at the ceiling of the cave. Weil closed them.

A terrible, oppressive silence settled over that chamber. Lies. Misunderstanding. Hatred. This entire mess had spiraled so quickly. And for what? Weilstadt couldn't decide if he should cry, scream, or maybe even laugh at the pointlessness of it all. He chose none of the above. There was something else that needed to be done.

"Ac. Help Sandru up", Weilstadt said in a voice devoid of emotion. The Sewer Jack rose up. He held the fallen markswoman in his arms. "Leave Pitel. We're taking these two back."

Aclan cut to the matter at hand. "I'm guessing you have a plan for after we do that."

"Oh. I have a lot more than that, my friend." Weil promised his partner, the dead woman in his arms, and the gods themselves. "I have _a lot _more than that."

* * *

The pained cries of the Strigany as Weilstadt carried Desideria into their camp would join a lot of other things in the Sewer Jack's fitful dreams for many years to come. As soon as he had laid the body down, Weil had bid the Strigany goodbye and marched toward Brockel, promising to return for their horses. It was just after the noon hour by now. Most of the town had finished their lunches and trudged back to another day of labor amid the doldrums of a mundane day after a raucous festival.

Herr Ziegman was the richest man in the Triplet Towns. It was likely that only Graf Kreiche was more well off. Even then, if what Hans had said about the Graf was true, perhaps Kreiche wasn't in a state to maintain wealth and Ziegman really was the most powerful person in the Triplet Towns. That still made Ziegman the biggest fish in a little pond. They had killed his right hand man and a part of his "private army". Driven by a cold, sullen rage, Weilstadt walked through the streets toward the corrals. He didn't have his weapons in his hands yet. No need for a random town watchman to stop the Sewer Jack along the way.

Aclan held his bow in one hand but no arrows. Silently, he remained in step with his partner. Weilstadt was grateful for it. There had been no words of discouragement from the elf, nothing about being no better than Ziegman or this course not being what Desideria would want. For good or for ill, Aclan had Weilstadt's back.

The house wasn't hard to find. As Weil suspected it would be, Ziegman's manor was the largest structure in Brockel, not unlike the von Bauman estate in Lichtzeichen at first glance. It was two stories tall and built so it stood perpendicular to the horse corral. The manor had a waist-high, wooden fence surrounding it. There was an opening in the fence that gave way to a cobbled footpath that led from the street up to the front door of the manor. A single "doorman" in a stained jerkin sat in a wooden chair. He was leaning it back on two legs, his head against the wall. A smoking pipe was clutched between his teeth, a crossbow across his lap.

"If you ain't got business with Herr Ziegman then piss off." The doorman said.

"We do have business with Herr Ziegman", Weil said, pausing just inside the opening in the fence. Off to his left, one of the horses in the corral brayed loudly.

"I would've been informed if Herr Ziegman was expecting you, so if he ain't, you ain't got not business with him", the doorman quipped, pulling the pipe from his mouth and pointing the stem toward Weil and Ac. "So, why don't you do as I said and piss o-URGHK!"

A crossbow bolt had _thwipped. _As the door man had parted his lips to say "off", the bolt skimmed between his teeth and pierced the back of his throat, pinning him to the wall. Choking and sputtering around the bolt, the doorman vainly grasped at projectile holding him there. Having been unable to sound an alarm, it was likely the manor hadn't been alerted if no one was watching from a window. Weil wondered how many thugs would be inside. Likely not many. Most would probably be out and about, pursuing the ends of their criminal master. Still, better to assume there would be resistance.

"We'll be letting ourselves in", Weilstadt muttered as approached the double doors in the front of the manor. Weil stood in front of the left, his repeater at the ready. Aclan took the right, an arrow nocked.

"There are likely servants in here who have no part of Ziegman's operations", Aclan suggested. "We'd best watch our fire."

"Good point. We'll keep an eye out", Weil concurred. He chided himself. In his anger, he hadn't even thought about that. Once again, he was grateful for Ac's help.

Human and elf nodded to each other, then as one, kicked the doors in. The wood _cracked _and the door Aclan kicked simply fell off its hinges. The first person they encountered was a woman carrying a silver platter with a pot of tea upon it. She was halfway up a stairwell in the foyer. The maid shrieked and dropped her platter, the teapot falling over the railing and coming down to shatter against the wooden floor, followed swiftly by the rattling resonation of the platter.

"Get out of here. Now", Weilstadt barked at the maid.

The woman needed no prompting. She scurried down the stairs and ran past Weil and Ac, out into the sunlight. She would probably be running for the town watch. Best to get on with this.

"ZIEGMAN!" Weil roared as the maid went past. "I'M COMING FOR YOU, ZIEGMAN, YOU HEAR ME?!"

Weil and Ac checked their corners, looking into a dining room to the right just before the stairs and a sitting room to the left. Weil then the way up the stairs. Ac backpedaled behind him, keeping the foyer below them in his sight. When Weil reached the top of the stairs, he almost lost his head as one of Ziegman's toughs emerged around the corner to Weil's right with a thick-bladed falchion. Such as it was, the Sewer Jack managed to lean back. The clipped blade of the falchion cut a nick out of bridge of Weil's nose before embedding in the wall beside his head.. The one holding the blade emerged around the corner and Weil put a bolt in his ribs. The thug reeled back and Weil charged, slamming into his attacker shoulder-first and sending him down. Weil put a boot on the falchion wielder's throat and aimed to his right.

Back on the stairs, Aclan loosed an arrow as a confused thug emerged from the sitting room. It struck him in the left breast and he swore as his hatchet hit the floor and he fell back.

"Guy in the cave said the office overlooked the corral", Weil recalled between deep, seething breaths. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Probably that door at the end of the hall that way." Weil ignored the struggling thug under his boot, who uselessly clawed at the Sewer Jack's leg as blood filled his punctured lung. Just to make sure, Weil drew his gladius and sped up his victim's journey to Morr's Garden with a downward thrust.

Putting the sword away, Weil walked backwards as Aclan proceeded forwards. No one else emerged from the doors in the hall. It was likely that any remaining servants were in hiding or had already fled. A single door waited at the end of the hall; Ziegman's office, if that thug in the cave was to be believed. Aclan reached out for the doorknob but Weil reached back and stopped him, shaking his head.

"What?" Aclan asked.

"Either side", Weil suggested. They stacked up on either side of the door. Only then did Weil grab the doorknob and turn it.

A fist-sized hole was blown through the door as whoever waited inside fired a blunderbuss through it. Weil ripped it open and stormed inside, blindly pumping the trigger on his repeater at the first person he saw. An incredibly fat man that was crouched behind a wooden desk bellowed as three of the six remaining crossbow bolts found purchase in his chest and shoulders. He fell back, the fine silk of his doublet quickly soaking up blood. Weil slung his crossbow over his back and unsheathed his spatha, rounding the knocked over desk to stand over the obese gunman.

"Herr Ziegman, I presume", Weil rasped. He felt the blood pounding in his ears like the drums of a hunt.

"Who...who are...you?" Ziegman gurgled. He tried to lift his prodigious girth from the floor by using his smoking blunderbuss as a crutch. Weil doubted the fat man could have managed it even without the quarrels embedded in his body.

"I'm just a messenger", Weilstadt informed him. He approached, putting a boot on top of the bolt in Ziegman's left shoulder. Weil felt a grim, ugly satisfaction as he applied pressure to the quarrel and pushed it further into the crime lord's flesh.

Ziegman wailed and flailed like a stuck swine. "I don't even know you! Aagh! You want money?! Land?! I'll give you anything!"

"I'm a messenger", Weilstadt repeated, finally letting his boot off the quarrel. "I want you to take a message."

"Wh-...what?!" Ziegman sobbed, not comprehending.

"Morr says, 'welcome home.'" Weil rasped. His spatha then stabbed through Ziegman's heart. With a last blubbering death rattle, Ziegman left this world.

As he'd suspected would be the case, Weilstadt didn't feel any better.

"Are you well, Volker?" Aclan inquired from his post at the door.

"I'm not sure, Ac", Weil muttered. He felt tired. Of all the ways he'd thought this day would go, this was not one of them. "We, ah...we'd better look around. Try to find a key or a safe or something. Bet the fat bastard has a vault in the basement. Bet that's where Rodrigo's treasure is." He started searching the dead crime lord's pockets, eventually finding a small key around his neck. It wouldn't open any vault or safe. The locked drawers of the desk, on the other hand…

"You really think the treasure is real?" Aclan asked further.

"Don't plowing know, Ac. This blighter got rich enough to monopolize the horse trade here somehow and I think we both know it wasn't through hard work and determination", Weil sighed as he opened one drawer after another, tossing stacks of paper as he drew them out. There was a gold pocket-watch with a diamond studded chain in one drawer; Weil threw the delicate piece of artifice aside with the papers. "Whatever the hell happened already, we gave Grandfather our word we'd help find the relics of his clan. I'm keeping my word." Weil pulled open the bottom drawer on the right side of the desk. The first thing he saw was a bottle of brandy, which he extricated, opened, and took several gulps from. It tasted horrible. He hurled it against the wall, smashing the bottle, leaving a burgundy splatter to slowly dribble down to the floor. Behind the bottle was a wooden strongbox with a different lock on it. Weil picked it up and smashed it against the corner of the desk until the lid came off its hinges and a much larger key flopped onto the rug beneath the desk.

"There", Weil said. He tucked the key away then popped open the top of his repeater crossbow. He dropped for bolts into the two hoppers that fed the two strings of the weapon. One they were slotted in, he closed and latched the lid, then turned the cranks on the back of the crossbow to draw firing mechanisms back to full readiness. All told, after much practice, it took Weil almost a minute to complete the task.

Weil and Ac left the office and started searching the house for a cellar. The manor felt eerily empty but the two adventurers remained alert all the same. At any time, Ziegman's surviving head knockers could return to avenge their master (or, more likely, loot his house).

There was, indeed, a vault down in the cellar. It was nowhere near the size that the von Baumans' had been; looking more like an ordinary storage room that had been given an iron door and reinforced timbers in the walls. With Aclan watching his back, Weil stuck the key he'd found in the lock. The door emitted a dull _thunk_ as the key turned. Weil pulled the door open.

The inside of the vault was not spectacular and that alone threw Weil off. Perhaps his perceptions had been too colored by the stories he loved so much, but he'd expected great piles of coin, ancient relics studded with jewels laying around. There were a few smaller chests full of hard coin against one wall, a stack of empty coin purses lying beside them. Shelves and racks lined the walls and stood freely in the center of the room. Upon these, there were old weapons, small statuettes and clockwork toys, pieces of unique jewelry, among other objects.

"I don't think there's enough in here to have filled those chests we saw back in the cave", Weilstadt said. A black mood started settling over him.

"It's as you said, Volker. Ziegman gathered his immense wealth somehow. He likely sold off much of the hoard", Aclan reasoned as he inspected a ceramic, cylindrical scroll case. "Hm…"

"Aye", Weilstadt murmured. His eyes fell upon a curved sword that was serrated along its back edge. The steel of the hilt was tinted black, three rubies the size of grapes were held inside tiny, fanged maws emerging from the pommel. Or, Weil supposed that would make the rubies themselves the pommel. Didn't matter. Yet, even as he dismissed this weapon, he felt his gaze drawn back to it. If nothing else, it would sell for a good amount back in Altdorf, wouldn't it? That was if the blade itself wasn't enchanted. The Strigany treasure wasn't here. They may as well take something to make this not a total loss…

"Don't", Aclan snapped, grabbing Weilstadt's wrist. The Sewer Jack hadn't even realized he as reaching for the sword. An alien rage swept through him. Weil lashed out with his free fist, connecting with Aclan's cheek and rocking the elf's head.

The world became a blur as Aclan pulled some kind of hand-to-hand combat maneuver and before he knew it, Weilstadt was face first on the ground, Aclan holding the Sewer Jack's left arm back in a painful lock. The elf's knee was in the small of Weil's back. Each time Weil tried to struggle free, Aclan increased the pressure on the human's arm. Finally, the agonizing pain forced Weil out of the fury he'd fallen into. Slowly, he relaxed.

"Calm yourself, Volker", Aclan advised, surprisingly nonchalant about this incident.

"What...just happened?" Weil grunted against the floor.

"I've finally figured out why the name 'Strigany' rang a bell", Aclan said. "It relates to this incident. I'm going to let you go. Don't focus on that sword anymore. Or anything else in this room, for that matter."

Aclan released his partner. Weil picked himself up and rolled his aching shoulder.

"Sorry", he apologized as he saw the shiner rapidly forming on Aclan's cheek.

"We're both still alive", Ac dismissed it with his usual stoicism, gingerly feeling his face. "These are not relics of the Strigany, but of the Strigos Empire. It seems so obvious to me now but I'd only ever heard of the Empire in a few old stories. Their nobility was made up of vampires. It's where the Strigoi Ghoul King bloodline of vampires get their name. I'm not intimate with the history, but the facts are too clear to ignore. I suspect the Strigany are descendants of the human peasantry of that ancient land."

Weil shuddered. He had encountered vampires twice in his life. Once had been in the Sewer Watch, a beast he'd only managed to escape because it had been too busy drinking the blood of one of his squadmates. The second time had been a month before Weil and Ac had arrived in the Border Princes. That time, they had been the hunters, not the hunted. It had been a hard fight, and according to Ac, that vampire had been quite young and weak relative to the rest of the Midnight Aristocracy. Weilstadt had heard the horror stories of Sylvania, the vampire riddled former province of the Empire. An entire kingdom ruled by vampires was not something the Sewer Jack wanted to countenance.

A new thought struck Weil. "We can't give these back to the Lakatos Clan." It rankled him, but Weil's word was not worth whatever havoc such relics like that sword would wreak upon innocent people.

"No, we cannot", Aclan agreed. "Let's lock the vault up and take the key. We'll inform the authorities and let the adherents of Sigmar do their holy work."

"Good thinking. Let's get the horses from the caravan and ride to Graf Kreiche's estate. We can tell Grandfather the treasure's been moved but we're on the trail of it, if it comes down to that", Weil suggested.

So determined, the two adventurers closed and locked the vault behind them, hurrying out of the manor. Their progress was arrested quite short of their goal, however.

As Weil and Ac emerged from the front door of the manor, they encountered eight men in chainmail and barbute helms carrying halberds out in the street. Each wore a tabard of Reikland red and white, with a sash of rosy wool around their shoulders that had bore images of wrapping, thorny vines.

One of the soldiers broke from the group, stepping into the lane. Instead of a helmet, he had on a tall hat with a wide brim that was pinned up on both sides. The officer had a broadsword in his hand, but for the moment, it was held at his side.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen", the watch officer greeted. "I am Captain Witz, commander of Graf Kreiche's soldiers. There have been reports of a…", he looked to the side of the door, "...disturbance."

Weil followed Witz's eyes. The doorman thug, now dead, was still pinned to the wall.

"By the authority of Graf Kreiche, I am taking the both of you into custody", Witz informed them. "Turn over your weapons and you will not be harmed."

If they fell back into the house and used the front door and stairs to their advantage, Weil was confident he and Ac could fight this patrol off. But, that would serve little purpose beyond increasing the trouble they were in and add yet more unnecessary death to this entire debacle.

"Very well, then", Weilstadt complied. One by one, he set all his weapons down at his feet. Aclan did the same, but was visibly hesitant with his greataxe.

Their weapons were collected, and the two adventurers were led away from the manor.

* * *

The Graf's estate would have been visible from Brockel if not for the trees. It was a ten minute walk up an escarpment through the Reikwald leading to the mansion itself, which had the look of a hunting lodge much more than a nobleman's estate. It was surrounded by a ten foot stone wall that was topped with metal spikes; a necessity should a roaming pack of beastmen get any ideas.

Weil and Ac had their hands bound. Their were led through the gate of the mansion's grounds and the comparison to a hunting lodge became rapidly more apt. A large shack for smoking meat was immediately beside another one that was meant for salting it, though it looked like neither had been in use for some time. So, too, the racks that would have had the hides of deer, bears, and wolves stretched out across them were empty. There was a barracks for the house guards, too small to house them all. The rest likely had another building in Brockel proper.

The guards led their captives into the mansion. Keeping with the theme, the walls would likely collapse if another taxidermied animal head or animal skin was added to them. The only paintings on the walls featured men and women running beasts to ground, firing weapons at prey, or standing triumphantly over their kills. The Graf was, obviously, an outdoorsman.

Weil and Ac were brought to a sitting room, where a circle of six chairs were placed around a central table. The chairs were all upholstered with, as one might have guessed, animal skins. Tea and cakes were laid out upon the table, and there was already a stern, stately woman sitting at the one that faced the door. She did not wear a dress, but the durable, comfortable garb a hunter might wear as he stalked the forest. There was no mistaking her bearing, however. If she wasn't nobility, she was close. At her shoulder was a bright-eyed man in knightly armor.

"Here they are, Your Grace", Captain Witz said.

"Thank you, Laurence. Please be so kind as to free them from their bindings and leave us." The woman bid.

"At once, my lady", Witz said. He undid the shackles that held the two adventurers, then led his soldiers away.

"Please, sit down, gentlemen, help yourselves to the streuselkuchen. I am Grafin Tessa Kreiche. This is Sir Alton, my bodyguard." She made a few strange gestures with her hands toward Sir Alton, who did a few in return. "He says hello."

"Volker Weilstadt", the Sewer Jack introduced himself, taking the seat directly across from the Grafin. "This is…"

"Aclan of Ellyrion, my lady", Ac said, removing his cap and sitting to Weil's right. Tessa was, understandably, surprised by the revelation. The name of Aclan's home kingdom on the high elf continent Ulthuan was about the only thing the elf had revealed about his homeland to Weilstadt. The fact that he'd named his horse after it probably meant something. Weil didn't know what.

"I did not expect an elf. Though, I'm sure you get that a lot, no doubt", Tessa guessed. She casually threw one leg over the other.

"Indeed. But, from one hunter to another, if even a fraction of the trophies in here are your kills, you should be proud", Aclan said with a kind smile.

Hunter? That was new. Ac's skill with the bow was prodigious, but Weil had just thought that was an elven thing. Curious. A topic for another time.

Tessa smiled modestly, "you flatter me, Herr Aclan. Ah, but we diverge from the matter at hand. It's my understanding the two of you had a rather...intense...confrontation with one Herr Sigismund Ziegman?"

"You could call it that, aye", Weil fielded the question. He eyed the tea and cakes but had no appetite. "I'm guessing since we're not being led to a gallows at the moment, you don't have a problem with that."

"Astutely deduced, Herr Weilstadt", Tessa confirmed. "Ever since my husband's injury, the authority of our estate has been in decline. It didn't help that Herr Ziegman had come into some manner of monetary windfall at some point. He was always a greedy pig but when he got that money he became a real bastard. His monopoly over the horse trade made him the most powerful man in the Triplet Towns. I suppose his arrogance was his undoing, to leave himself so unprotected in his own home."

"The way his thugs acted, I don't think Ziegman had to worry about his own safety for a very long time. He struck me as the sort who got used to people moving mountains to get out of his way", Weil quipped with disdain. "Appropriate, given he was mountain shaped himself."

The Grafin laughed out loud. She signed the joke to Sir Alton, who silently joined her in laughter. "Ah, goodness...anyhow, I must thank you for removing him. Herr Ziegman was never a strong man, nor was he wise. He was, however, intelligent and cunning. He didn't try pay my soldiers to fight for him, merely to let him operate unbothered. There were only so many men in the Triplet Towns that would directly serve him, thus he used propaganda to inflate the danger he represented to the common folk. Clearly, it worked. No one would move against him, not even my men, bless their hearts, for fear of what would happen to their families. Now, however, I must take my soldiers into the Towns and root out Ziegman's surviving associates, then take custody of his horse trading business. Before I do that, please, name a reward. If it's within my power, it will be yours."

Weil said at once, "there's a Strigany caravan camping outside the southern gate of Brockel. Any money you would give to us, I would ask that you give it to them, my lady."

Tessa blinked. "The...Strigany, you say? Whatever for?"

"It's a complicated tale, Your Grace, but I agree with Volker", Aclan informed her, rather surprising Weil. "If it would soothe your conscience, we would gladly accept a few crowns to cover travel expenses and equipment maintenance, as well."

"Hm. Well, if that is your wish, I shall keep my word. I'll have my steward assemble the funds", Tessa said.

"Additionally", Weil said, getting Ziegman's key out. "This will unlock a vault in Herr Ziegman's cellar. Don't take anything in there. Keep it locked and untouched until some priests of Sigmar or Morr can come and dispose of the artifacts inside."

This news visibly troubled Tessa, but she took the key with a solemn nod. "By the name of Sigmar Heldenhammer...I had no idea the man had gotten so bad."

"You couldn't have known, Your Grace. It's been taken care of", Aclan said.

Tessa nodded, then, "forgive the swiftness of this meeting, but time is of the essence. Thank you again, gentlemen. Captain Witz will return your gear. Sigmar watch over you."

The two adventurers left the mansion shortly thereafter, the Grafin and her soldiers riding past them after a couple of minutes.. As they walked down the road back to Brockel, Weilstadt turned over the events of the past day. It was madness to think they had only just arrived in Brockel the evening before. Just by virtue of being in the wrong place at the right time, they'd gotten roped into altogether too much. Weil's tread was heavy, as was his heart.

"All will be well, Volker", Aclan tried to assure him.

"I know it will eventually, Ac", the Sewer Jack replied. "Just forgot how tiring it is."

"Being an adventurer?" The elf inquired.

"No", Weil uttered, Desideria's smiling face flashing across his mind. "Life."

* * *

_Grafin Kreiche successfully took back the reins of the Triplet Towns, no pun intended. It's my understanding the Towns grew quite prosperous. I've heard her son retired from the Reikland State Army when his mother passed to come home and run their lands. I have no idea if there truly were more stashes of Strigany treasure. I do not know if Grandfather knew of the true origins of those relics or if he was just as ignorant as we were. All I know is Aclan and I were swept up into a storm that we had no real reason to be a part of. _

_I suppose it was, as most of the adventures that have been in these volumes were, a lesson that needed to be learned. Perhaps the life of a farmer or a baker was not exciting and not without risk, but it was almost always clearly cut and defined. Most people saw the life of the adventurer or the mercenary or what have you through the lens of monotony. They saw, glamor, prestige, and riches. When adventurers saw their friends die, they were graceful deaths; dramatic, meaningful ends. That's what the stories, the stories I still dearly love, tell us of death. Their deaths weren't someone taking a bullet meant for someone that never deserved such a sacrifice. The tales never spoke of the nights when one awakes in a fit of screaming and tears, having seen the faces of the ghosts they have left in their wake._

_If you take nothing else from these volumes, dear reader, I ask that you take that to heart. There is something to treasure in the safety and security of the mundane. Once you've left that sanctuary, even if your body returns to it, you'll find the soul does not so readily do so._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 4: Of Petty Kings and Forgotten Things"_


	5. A Lion's Pride

_Marienburg was not a pleasant city. At least, not for me. Being built on artificial islands in the middle of a coastal swamp didn't exactly breed the most welcoming of locals. Even the region around it had a dreadful name; Wasteland. That being said, it is almost impossible to be an adventurer and not eventually find one's self drawn to that place. Some say it's the largest city in the Old World, and really only the people in Altdorf dispute that claim. I, myself, join the Altdorf camp on principle alone. Even someone as widely travelled as me can say "no" to plain facts with enough effort._

_But, I digress. Boyar Mikhailov's merchant vessels had successfully made the journey from Marienburg to Erengrad and back to Marienburg.. As none of the expected Norscan raiders had attacked during the voyage , it ended up being easy coin for Aclan and I. Granted, that meant no bounties for the number of Norscans slain, but I'd say a few days of seasickness were worth a bloodless coin purse._

_The thing is that while Altdorf is certainly the center of land based trade in the Empire, Marienburg is the hub of maritime trade, in spite of the fact that Marienburg is no longer part of the Empire. It even has two orders of knights dedicated to the god of the sea stationed there; the Knights-Mariner and the Sons of Manann. What's more, though, is that ships from all over the world, even from far Araby and Cathay, could be found on the docks of Marienburg._

_This also includes the dwarfs of Barak Varr and, more importantly for this tale, the high elves of Ulthuan._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 5: Over the Hills and Far Away."_

* * *

Weilstadt knew stink. He could comfortably say that he knew countless different versions of stink from his long, storied career tromping around beneath the streets, walking through other peoples shite, and killing mutants and skaven. Marienburg had an all new, different level of stink that Weil had never experienced. The particular brand of fish and wet rot mixed with the general noisome damp air of the swamp into a horrid cocktail. How the denizens of Marienburg survived without cauterizing their nostrils closed was a mystery.

Even more so than Altdorf, Marienburg was a melting pot of a city. The vast majority of the population was human, of course. The fair haired folk of Kislev, in their fur caps and thick vests, rubbed shoulders with the dark-skinned traders of Araby. Three rough and tumble foresters of the Imperial province of Hochland were engaged in vehement haggling with a portly lass from the province of Talabecland that was selling cheese. A Bretonnian knight, accompanied by a cringing squire, was loudly voicing his disapproval over the state of Tilean merchant's wine. All these, and many more. Weilstadt just wished they'd quiet down.

Weil emerged, bleary eyed and still half asleep, from the front door of the inn he and Ac had been staying at. It was the...Surgeon Sturgeon? Emerging Sturgeon? He couldn't remember. He'd already been a little drunk on the vodka provided by Boyar Mikhailov when they'd arrived the night before and Weil hadn't thought to check the name.

"You turn to the drink too much", Aclan admonished his human partner.

"I'd resist her siren call if I could", Weil blathered.

"Yes, I'm sure you are absolutely martyred by your self-indulgence", Ac snipped.

Weil lifted an eyebrow, "what the hell kind of beast crawled up your arse and died this morning?

"I just wish to be out of this city", Aclan said. "The sooner we leave, the better."

"We're in agreement there. Though sounds to me like our reasons are pretty damn different. Got an ex-wife that lives here or something?"

"I have told you before that I've never been married, Volker. Look, I'm certain if we head to Dockside we'll be able to find a ship bound for Bretonnia or even Tilea looking for guards. You were saying it would be nice to get out of the Empire again."

"Would rather avoid Bretonnia", Weil said. "I doubt Count Rainsfere has forgotten that number we did on his men."

"Then they should not have attacked two random travellers just for the sake of not being Bretonnian", Aclan dismissed. "But, I did not intend to tempt fate and return to Couronne, anyway."

"Fair enough. Let's head to Dockside and see what's what, then", Weil concurred.

The two of them headed for the northern edge of the city, the most extensive harbor in the Old World. To get there, they had to pass through streets that were almost like tunnels for how close the buildings were packed together. Things were squalid, the ample shade of the close buildings allowing for moisture, mildew, and mold to seep into corners and on alley walls. Weil kept a firm watch on his person. If a pickpocket managed to grab something, there as little chance of catching them here.

Things opened up once at Dockside. While it was a relief to the eyes, the nose suffered all the more for the increase of fish stink. All down the wharfs and docks of the giant, convex crescent harbor, an endless variety of ships were moored. Weil wasn't an authority on naval matters by any means, so he didn't really know the names of the types of vessels. The only exceptions were two vessels; a huge, squarish Imperial greatship, and a metal shod, paddlewheel driven dwarf ironclad.

Here, the traffic was the thickest in the city, save perhaps for the Red Lantern Quarter. Eager sailors disembarked from their ships, their pay from weeks or even months of sailing ready to be spent in a matter of days at Marienburg's endless number of taverns and brothels. Equally downcast sailors shuffled slowly back to the vessels that would carry them away from leisure and back to the toil and danger of Manann's domain. Wagons and carts full of cargo trundled their way across the boardwalk, bound for whatever warehouse or mercantile outlet they would be sold at. One could hear three or four languages being shouted amid the squawking of gulls. Stevedores and quartermasters oversaw the unloading of cargo, scolding sailors that took too long or too little care in their efforts.

In short, it was a madhouse.

"I can see a few Bretonnian corsairs. A galleon as well", Aclan noted as he shaded his eyes and looked down the docks to the west. "We can start there."

"This is your area of expertise, mate", Weil grunted. He looked the other direction, to the east, and saw a new sight. "Oh, hey, Ac. Pretty darn sure those are your kinfolk over there, ain't they?"

"What?" Aclan immediately whipped around and looked down the docks.

Sure enough, a group of a dozen or so elves were making their way down the dock, coming towards Weil and Ac. Well, likely not towards the two adventurers specifically. Either way, Weil felt fairly safe they weren't dark elves or wood elves. All of them were dressed gaudily by Weil's standards. All wore loose, white clothing trimmed in striped fringe of blue and red. Most of the elves wore tall, conical helms, shining breastplates, and bracers. Around their legs were a sort of open-fronted skirt like the bottom of a robe, except the outside of it was lined with scale armor. These warriors carried spears, bows, and kite shields.

Two different looking elves led the group, a man and a woman. Both of them carried swords but wore no armor. Their silken robes, however, were elaborately embroidered with iconography featuring storms and, most prominently, sea dragons. The male elf was the shorter of the two, and was missing his left arm at the the mid-forearm. He had a casual alertness about him. A long, auburn braid kicked about behind his head in the wind.

Holding the one-armed elf's good arm with one of hers, the female elf was confident and curious, inspecting every new sight and sound around her, pointing things out to her male companion as they walked. Her ashen hair was cut boyishly short.

"I s'pose it might be a silly question, but do you know them?" Weilstadt asked his partner.

There was no response.

"Ac?" Weil looked over at his partner.

Aclan was, for the first time that Weil had seen, completely stunned. His eyes were locked on the oncoming elves. Weil could see the conflict going on behind Ac's gaze.

The Sewer Jack snapped his fingers in front of Aclan's face. "Hey. Herr Sunshine. Why don't you return to our realm and tell me what's going on?"

Aclan shook his head, snapping out of the spell. "We...yes, we need to leave."

"Are they dangerous or something?" Weil inquired, growing both concerned and confused.

"I'll explain later, let's just go before…"

"Aclan? By Asuryan, is that you?"

Weil and Ac both looked east to see the female elf was rapidly striding forward, a broad smile upon her face as she weaved through the crowd. When she closed the distance she threw her arms about Aclan's waist. Ac, for his part, stared unblinkingly and didn't move a muscle.

The apparent reunion was almost a mirror image of what had happened when they'd entered the gates of Brockel. Weil's thoughts turned melancholy as he remembered Desideria. It had already been to months. At times, like this, it still felt like yesterday.

"L-Lady Inryla", Aclan finally managed to get the words out and awkwardly put his arms on the lady elf's shoulders. "What, uh...what are you doing in Marienburg?"

Inryla leaned back, still holding Aclan's arms by the biceps. "Trade negotiations on father's behalf. You know how these human lordlings just love elven timber."

"And how is Lord Calahir?" Aclan asked further.

"He is well. He misses you. Our new White Lion is competent but he lacks your spirit", Inryla looked Aclan up and down. "Goodness, Aclan, I barely recognized you at first glace. If not for your axe I never would have."

"Yes, yes, indeed", Ac coughed awkwardly, "ahm, this is my partner, Herr Volker Weilstadt. Volker, this is Lady Inryla of Tor Araden."

"Partner…?" Inryla repeated, finally noticing Weilstadt standing there. "Oh, forgive me. How do you do, sir." She held out a hand.

"Ianith nor tuel, my lady", Weilstadt, perhaps foolishly, repeated an elven greeting he had seen in one of his storybooks as he took Inryla's hand and bowed over it.

"And...honor unto you, as well", Inryla said slowly, clearly intrigued. "Did you teach him Eltharin?"

"I've not spoken a word of it around him", Aclan said. He gave Weilstadt a warning look that told the Sewer Jack not to do that again.

By now, the rest of the group of elves had caught up. The one armed elven man reached Inryla's shoulder. The traffic of the docks flowed around the little cluster like a stream around rocks.

"Aclan, you remember Dalos, yes?" Inryla said, adding with a smile, "forgive me; Lord Dalos. Darling, this is Aclan's partner, Herr Weilstadt."

"Damned good to see you again, Aclan", Dalos shook hands with Ac, then with Weil, "and good to meet you, sir."

"You're looking well, my lord", Aclan said. "How's the arm?"

"Still hurts like Khaine's own fury when it gets cold. Not that it wasn't worth it, of course", Dalos replied, putting his arm around Inryla's shoulders. The two nobles grinned at each other. They were clearly quite taken with one another.

A few moments of silence passed. Beyond Inryla and Dalos, the elven guards stood impassively. Correction. Most stood impassively. One of them, a relatively short woman, was watching Aclan rather intently.

"Well, I'm sure you're busy, and Volker and I were just about to look for a ship to find work on…", Aclan started to say.

"What? So soon? Come, Aclan, you and Herr Weilstadt simply must join us for supper this evening", Inryla insisted.

Before Aclan could protest, Weil sent a mental prayer for forgiveness to whichever elven god Aclan cleaved to the most, and intervened.

"He'd love to!" Weilstadt declared. "We'd love to, certainly, just tell us the time and place."

Inryla clapped her hands together. "Splendid! We are staying at the elven embassy. The head chef hails from Avelorn, I swear the gods themselves bless her kitchen. I'll ensure they have rooms set aside for the both of you. Come by at seventh bell this evening, I'll tell the guards to expect you."

If looks could kill, Weilstadt would be extremely dead. Thankfully, they could not, and Aclan would just have to live with this.

"We will be there, my lady. Thank you", Aclan said.

After a few more words of parting, the elven emissaries left.

"You have some rather serious explaining to do", Aclan threatened, looming over Weilstadt.

Weil was unmoved. "I just saw you shrivel up like the Emperor's little hammer on a cold day at the sight of that woman. I'd say you've got a lot more explaining to do than I do, mate."

Aclan huffed, looking around as if there would be a legitimate source for him to vent his anger out on. When there was nothing to be found by ignorant passersby, the elf, muttered, "fine. Follow me."

"Where?" Weil asked.

"To turn to the drink." The elf answered.

* * *

It was impossible! It simply couldn't be! Yet, all the evidence he needed was right in front of the observer beneath the boardwalk. No one really though to look down as they trod across the docks. No one saw the glowing emerald eye that gazed through a gap between two of the planks above him.

Scrix chittered under his breath. His glands expelled the musk of fear, a scent that would luckily be masked by the fetid surroundings. After all this time, the man-thing and the elf-thing from the sewers had finally tracked him down! Scrix didn't want to believe it, but he had to. When he'd first spotted the two the night before, Scrix had not been sure of what he was seeing. This confirmed it.

It could not have come at a worse time. Scrix had managed to depose Ankretch Bloodcrawler, taking control of Clan Kozrot for himself. That was only a month ago. Scrix's hold on the clan was still tenuous. His jealous underlings did not see that the key to their ascension to the top of all skavendom had finally come to power. That was alright. They were learn soon enough. Come to think of it, it was likely one of those very underlings that alerted the two sewer hunters to Scrix's presence in this man-thing city. Horned Rat take them by the tail! He'd have to devote some Gutter Runners to find the traitor soon.

Unless the traitor was not from within, but without. Any number of powerful skaven could have sent a message to the man-thing and elf-thing. Scrix's rise to power was a glorious, momentous occasion. Naturally, there were those as high up as the Council of Thirteen that could not abide such a superior skaven getting close to their power.

It was time to show them all the price of their treachery. These two no doubt thought themselves to be the hunters. Scrix would show them just how untrue that was. He hissed at his bodyguards, lashing out at one with his tail for not cowering away properly.

"Back into the sewers, rat-meat", Scrix snarled at the stormvermin. They did as they were told and hurried back into the drain pipe they had emerged from. Scrix followed close behind. He had some planning to do.

* * *

Aclan had fairly dragged Weil into a Dockside tavern that was packed with sailors and working girls. Weil knew something was very wrong when the elf ordered an ale for himself, drank the entire pint in one go, and ordered another one.

The two of them could find nowhere to sit, so they tucked themselves into a corner of the shoddy building, ignoring the beckoning words of a trio of courtesans on their way past. They leaned against the wall.

"Alright", Weilstadt said. "Let's hear it."

Ac collected himself. "I was born in Ellyrion, a kingdom on Ulthuan. Like every asur I was trained to fight, and like every Ellyrian, I was trained in horsemanship. I joined the Ellyrian Reavers, the finest light cavalry in the world, as a horse archer. I served there for fifty years until, after a particularly vicious battle with Norscan raiders, I was invited to go to Chrace and take the trial of the White Lions", a pause, "Chrace being a kingdom on northeast Ulthuan."

"Gotcha. With you so far", Weil prompted the elf. "Except for the bit about the 'White Lions', anyway. I heard Lady Inryla mention that as well."

"The White Lions of Chrace are surpassed only by the Swordmasters of Hoeth and the Phoenix Guard as the best infantry the asur have to offer", Aclan explained with no small amount of pride. "We are the bodyguards of royalty and nobility all across Ulthuan, and formed into elite units when war comes upon us. Even the Phoenix King, the leader of all asur, is protected by White Lions. To earn the title, one must hunt and kill one of the white-furred lions in the deep forests of Chrace. It is not an easy task, and many die in the attempt. The white lion's pelt is resistant to arrows. Their claws make a mockery of steel armor. However, when one is successful, they bring the pelt back from their hunt and wear it, both as a symbol of honor and for the protective qualities it retains. We are then gifted our signature weapon", he reached up and touched the haft of his greataxe behind him, "the Chracian woodsman's axe."

Aclan closed his eyes before continuing, "to cut a long story short, my first and only assignment as a White Lion of Chrace was to protect Lord Calahir of Eataine, the father of Lady Inryla. I did so for several decades, but the longer I was there the…", he trailed off, shaking his head, "...the more taken with Lady Inryla I became."

Ah. Now it all made sense. It didn't explain why he'd left home, though. Weilstadt allowed his partner to go on.

"Of course, I knew it would never be possible for us to be together", Aclan sighed. He took a long drink of ale, then, "White Lion I may have been, but I was a commoner, and she a noblewoman. So, I consigned myself to...I suppose 'pining' would be the proper word here."

"I'm not seeing a problem here, yet", Weilstadt admitted.

Aclan's eyes grew flinty. "Did you not hear what I said? I was the guard of Lord Calahir. Not Inryla. My attentions should have been upon my charge, not a woman I was uselessly yearning for like a star crossed youth", he thumped his fist against the wall, "there was a battle. The druchii were raiding Eataine after breaking through at a Caledoran defense force. They had a manticore with them and it broke through our lines, attacking Lady Inryla's unit. At the same time, a group of their Cold One Knights were assaulting the Silver Helms that Lord Calahir was personally leading. I...hesitated."

There it was. Weil said, "your head said Lord Calahir, but your heart said Lady Inryla."

Brimming with shame, Aclan confirmed, "yes. I chose duty. I saved Lord Calahir, but my hesitation allowed for him to be badly wounded; a wound he barely survived. Meanwhile, Inryla had badly hurt the manticore but she was knocked from her horse. She would have died if not for Dalos, a common spearman, coming to her aid. He stabbed the manticore through the roof of its mouth and lost his hand in the process, but he saved Inryla's life."

Aclan did not continue for a minute. He was not seeing Weil or the dirty tavern around him. The elf was in the past.

"When Inryla was not at her father's bedside, she was at Dalos's as he fought against the manticore's poison in his wound", Aclan's voice grew a little faint. "When Dalos had healed, he grew close to Inryla, and she to him. When Lord Calahir was well enough to offer Dalos a boon, he asked to be able to court Inryla, should she be willing, even though he was a commoner."

Weil grimaced. "Which, clearly, she was."

Aclan nodded. "Indeed. I saw how happy they were together and I realized how foolish I had been. My hesitation, my moment of weakness, almost cost my charge his life. I was not worthy of the White Lions. So, I excused myself from my duty. I would wander and fight until I had become the warrior I needed to be. When I've finally done that, I'll return to Ulthuan and undergo the trial to become a White Lion once more."

That didn't make a lot of sense to Weil. Aclan hadn't really failed, just made a mistake. However, given that the elf was finally opening up much more than Weil had expected, the Sewer Jack figured now would not be the best time to try to poke holes in Ac's story.

"So that's why Lady Inryla got to you, then. It wasn't just unrequited love", Weilstadt said.

"Just so. It was also a reminder of my failure. There are too few of we asur left in the world, Volker. Those of us that remain must be flawless in the execution of our duties if we are to survive and see an end to the enemies of Order. So...there you have it. This is why I wanted to get away from her. I'm not ready to face her yet."

"You'll never feel ready, mate", Weilstadt told the elf. "In fact, the longer you take, the less ready you'll feel. So you'd best just do it now. That's why I jumped on it before you could back out. You never know when your last opportunity will be."

Aclan licked his lips in thought, his knuckle knocking rhythmically against the wall. "I don't know what you think will be accomplished. But...perhaps you have a point. Perhaps putting myself before Lady Inryla will, by itself, help me somehow."

"Exactly, Ac, that's the spirit", Weil said, giving the elf a tap on the shoulder. "Plus, I wasn't going to let you screw me out of a nice dinner on someone else's coin."

"Bow of Kurnous smite me, is there a human alive that does not think solely with their stomach or their genitals?" Aclan sighed.

Weil shrugged, "probably, but Ranald knows I wouldn't want to meet someone that boring. Now, c'mon. We should probably go get baths somewhere."

Though, as Weilstadt said that, he realized Marienburg water would probably make them smell like...well, Marienburg water. Extra soap would be in order, then.

* * *

After dining with them for about half an hour, Weil recalled all the off-hand beliefs he'd heard that elves were arrogant folk that looked down on humans. His extensive dealings with Aclan had made him dismissive of all that conjecture. Ac, though abrasive in his own way at times, to be sure, was far less arrogant than a lot humans Weil had met.

How unfortunate, then, that some of the other denizens of the elven embassy were making Weilstadt start to reconsider his stance.

The entire embassy had been more finely appointed than anything Weilstadt had ever seen before. Every wall was a spotless white. Treasures and beautifully wrought weapons were mounted upon the walls. The artwork, which Aclan had said showed famous places from all the kingdoms on Ulthuan, was positively flawless. The nobles of the Empire were put to shame as far as opulence went.

Both Aclan and Weilstadt had been deemed improperly dressed. Weil was led to a room where his measurement was taken by a prim elf that blatantly ignored every word Weil said to him. After that painful process, Weilstadt was given a gaudy set of red and gold robes that had slightly archaic Imperial iconography on them. For the sake of Aclan, Weil put them on without complaint. His gear was taken to the room he'd be sleeping in. There was far too much freedom in those robes. Weil felt close to naked, in spite of how covered he was.

The dining room was a high-ceilinged, echoing space. Aclan, cleaned up and wearing a similar robe to Inryla and Dalos, was seated near the head of a long table with the happy couple. The spearelves that had been guarding them, now dressed in relatively plain tunics, lined both sides of the table. Weilstadt had been placed at the very end, and the ones serving dinner seemed to be making sure that he was the last one to receive his food and drink, not to mention they tended to avoid catching his eye. The spearelves, at the very least, acknowledged Weil when he spoke, but didn't exactly engage him, much preferring to speak to each other. Weilstadt decided that this was simply "taking one for the team", and resigned himself to eating in silence. At least the food was good. He'd never eaten duck before, and he certainly had no idea what "braised" meant.

At the head of the table, it seemed that Inryla and Dalos were insistent on Ac doing most of the talking, wanting to know about his adventures. Aclan was obliging them and, in a rare turn of events, Weil could actually get a good read on how the elf was thinking. Aclan's feelings were on his sleeve. He was still nervous, but the tension was apparently easing.

"Uh-uhm, excuse me, Herr Weilstadt", a woman's voice asked.

Weilstadt was slightly spooked by being addressed and looked to his right. An elven woman was looking at him. Weil recognized her from earlier. She was the short one that had been staring at Aclan like Ac was liable to disappear in a puff of smoke at any moment. Lady Inryla had introduced everyone around Weil. Hm.

"Miss Gweyir", Weilstadt remembered.

Gweyir looked at the other asur around her. They were in conversation already.

"You've been...travelling with Aclan for a while now, have you not?" Gweyir asked him tentatively.

"A year and some change, aye", Weilstadt confirmed.

"He hasn't…? That is, there isn't…?" Gweyir flushed furiously.

Weilstadt smiled. Now he got it.

"No, he hasn't found anyone along the way, Miss Gweyir", Weil assured the spearwoman.

She simply blushed even more and went back to her food.

Weil laughed to himself. So, someone had a crush on Aclan. For all they seemed to be high and mighty, these elves sure could be awfully human.

"Want I should put in a good word for you, Miss Gweyir?" Weilstadt asked innocently.

Weil was sure he heard steam whistling out of Gweyir's pointed ears.

"What? N-no, don't be ridiculous", Gweyir stammered, turning back to her plate.

That was the end of that. By the conclusion of dinner, Weil was absolutely stuffed to the brim. He was more or less escorted to his quarters and politely but firmly informed that he should remain in them until Aclan came to get him in the morning.

The room Weilstadt had been given was the size of the room he'd slept in as a Sewer Jack. However, instead of six or seven sweaty, dirty Sewer Jacks, there was a four-poster bed and a fireplace. When Weil lay down after making a few preparations, he sank into the down mattress and decided he would be remaining there until he died of starvation. After curling up under the covers, Weil drifted off to easy sleep.

* * *

Veez Scamperclaw was, without a doubt, the finest assassin in all skavendom. He knew it, everyone else knew it, even the Horned Rat, blessed be His pestilent name, knew it. That was why Warlord Scrix Bellyslicer had sent him to lead the Gutter Runner assassins. Scrix no doubt hoped Veez would die in the attempt. Such treachery would not go unpunished, but first, Veez had to slay his target. He had dispatched his least incompetent subordinate, Glekka, to deal with the tall elf-thing. Veez would humiliate Scrix by killing the man-thing that took Scrix's eye.

The elf-things were oblivious as Veez and his claw of assassins emerged from the sewers just outside the enclave. They clambered over the fence, six cloaked shadows, running low across the grounds. The fools at his back followed Veez's lead, as they very well should. That was the only reason they had not gotten themselves spotted yet.

They split up near the enclave itself, watching the windows. Veez saw his man-thing target with the ink-stained skin in one window. Perfect. The Gutter Runner waited until the candles were blown out. Then another hour after that. The man-thing would surely be asleep. Even if his target wasn't asleep, Veez was the stealthiest of all skaven. Even in broad daylight, Veez could have taken the man-thing's life without being spotted.

After an appropriate amount of time, Veez scampered up the scuttled up the side of the building and reached the window. It wasn't possible to unlock the window. Veez drew out a small, thin knife attached to a suction cup via an angled hinge. The Gutter Runner stuck the suction cup to the window, then spun the blade over the glass. Once the glass was cut, Veez pulled it away and handed the cut glass down to his subordinate hanging beneath him.

Finally, it was a matter of reaching inside, unlocking the window, and pulling it open. Child's play. Veez smiled malevolently as he slipped inside and lowered himself down to the floor.

The ratman screeched as pain shot through his feet. As he tried to look down and discern what was causing that pain, two crossbow bolts crunched into his chest and ended his life.

* * *

Silently, Weil thanked Desideria, wherever she might be watching from in Morr's Garden. Ever since she had told Weil and Ac about the assassin that tried to sneak in through their window in Heartstone, Weil had taken the liberty of spreading caltrops before the window of whatever place he might be sleeping in. It had taken Aclan a while to stop admonishing Weil for this new paranoia, and Weil had forgotten the caltrops once much to the regret of his left foot.

As he watched the cloaked skaven assassin crumple to the floor, however, Weilstadt's fear was tempered by a certain sense of vindication.

The window was diagonally to the right from the foot of Weil's bed, about twenty feet away. Even as the first assassin fell, a second one came through the window and jumped over the caltrops, though Weil managed to shoot the skaven in the ribs while it was still in the air. As the second Gutter Runner hit the floor and Weil sped another bolt into the beast to ensure it stayed down, the third assassin was already leaping out of the window, directly at Weil. The Sewer Jack fell back off the bed and to the floor, firing two shots on his way down and missing with both as the skaven landed on the bed. Weil tried to line up another shot but was forced to roll to his left as a pair of throwing knives embedded in the floor where the adventurer had been an instant before.

Weil, on his hands and knees now, let go of his crossbow and grabbed for one of his swords that sat propped against the nightstand. His gladius sang as it cleared the scabbard and the Gutter Runner attacked, whipping about with a dagger that dripped with poison. The two weapons met against and again with the ringing of steel as the Gutter Runner furiously pushed its attack. The two fenced with each other, Weil knowing that a single cut from that poisoned blade might be his undoing.

At one point, the skaven thrust with its blade and lashed out with its tail immediately afterward. Weil parried the stab at his naked midsection but groaned as the wormlike tail snapped against the side of his neck. The impact sent him back a couple of steps, and the Gutter Runner jumped up against one of the posts at the foot of the bed, springing off of it in an assassin's leaping strike. Weilstadt just barely managed to stop the ratman's knife, turning the creature's momentum against it and hurling the Gutter Runner against the wall by the fireplace. The skaven hissed angrily as it smashed into the wall and fell to the floor.

Weil blindly reached behind himself, taking a fistful of fabric and yanking forward, tossing one of the blankets into the path of the resurgent skaven. The white blanket fell over the skaven's head. It blindly charged into one of the bedposts. With a snap, the impact of the ratman's skull broke the post. The skaven barely had time to fall down before Weilstadt was on top of it, stabbing repeatedly with his gladius until the white sheet was thoroughly black with skaven blood. Once the sheet stopped twitching, Weil turned his sword upon the other two skaven, cutting their throats to ensure they stayed down.

When the door burst open a couple minutes later and four spearelves fanned out with their shields at the ready, they found Weilstadt, clad in only breeches, sitting on the end of his bed, loading his repeater with deliberate slowness. Aclan was immediately behind them, his greataxe

"Hate to use a cliche we liked in the Sewer Watch", Weil said as he latched the top of the crossbow closed, "but seems you've got a bit of an infestation in here."

"Skaven? By Asuryan, what are skaven doing here?" Aclan gapsed.

"Don't know what they were actually here to do. Have my doubts they invaded an elven embassy just to kill one human schmuck", Weilstadt said with a shrug.

Aclan immediately wheeled on his fellow asur, commanding, "awaken every guard and have this place searched from top to bottom, now!"

The spearelves filed out in a hurry.

"Say, Ac", Weil piped up.

"Hm?" The White Lion grunted as he turned around.

Weil pointed a thumb toward the window. "The caltrops worked."

* * *

Glekka cowered before Warlord Scrix Bellyslicer. The sole survivor of the Gutter Runner squad had known for almost certain that Veez was sending him into an ambush, so he had held back, waiting to see if Veez's attack succeeded. When it was obvious Veez had failed, Glekka had stabbed his two comrades in the back and fled back down into the sewers. After all, it wouldn't do for the most magnificent skaven in the Under-Empire to die in an elf-thing ambush, now, would it?

"Incompetent rat-meat!" Scrix screeched, lashing his tail across Glekka's face.

The prostrate Gutter Runner squirted the musk of fear as the Stormvermin guards in Scrix's den laughed and cajoled. Glekka would remember this humiliation. Scrix would be tasting his steel one day.

"Forgive me, most mighty and powerful Warlord", Glekka begged. "The elf-things were too powerful. The kill-slayed Trok and Syst at once! I knew I must scurry-hurry to tell you other incompetent rats failed your great wisdom and trust, yes-yes!"

Scrix spat, "bah! Liar! You fail on purpose! You want man-thing and elf-things to find Scrix. You want Scrix dead. Well, it is not Scrix that dies, no-no!" The Warlord of Clan Kozrot waved his paw.

"Wait! No! Give Glekka another chance!" Glekka cried as the Stormvermin closed around him. Scrix watched the butchery with satisfaction. There was very little left to identify Glekka as the skaven he had once been by the time the bodyguards were done.

Scrix lapsed into deep thought. It was so obvious. Whoever had told the man-thing and elf-thing that Scrix was present here had also warned them of the incoming assassination. So, too, had they turned Veez and Glekka to their side, convincing the Gutter Runners to fail. It was even worse than Scrix had predicted. Only a fellow Warlord could have this sort of pull, or, Horned Rat forbid it, a Grey Seer. Scrix's scabby lips slid back from his fangs in a growl at the idea. Those grey-furred sorcerers sat on a high pedestal. Once he found out which one did this, Scrix would be more than happy to knock them off.

Until then, though, there was the matter of the man-thing and elf-thing hunting him. Some further observation was needed. Depending on what he found, Scrix would have to have words with the foolish pedants of Clan Scruten in the nearby swamps.

This setback was minor. Compared to the reckoning Scrix was going to bring down upon his foes, it was a drop in the ocean.

* * *

The embassy knew no peace for the rest of the night. Weilstadt managed to get some sleep in an interior storeroom (after Aclan made him promise not to put caltrops in front of the door.) There were so many important elves on the embassy grounds that it was difficult to pinpoint who the intended target had been. Aclan, perhaps unsurprisingly, insisted that it had to have been Lady Inryla, due to the skaven attacking the very night she arrived in the embassy. By that token, Weilstadt had countered, it could be argued that he and Aclan were the targets. Obviously, that was ridiculous.

Whatever the case, Weil and Ac convened with Inryla and Dalos the next morning on a balcony overlooking the dazzlingly colorful gardens of the embassy grounds.

"I believe you should return to Ulthuan as soon as possible, my lady", Aclan insisted.

Inryla gave Aclan a bemused, unimpressed look. "I was not aware you had authority on such matters, Sir Aclan."

"Darling, he only worries for your safety", Dalos defended the White Lion. "As do I. Our trade negotiations are complete. Lord Calahir and Lady Scaelia would want you home as soon as possible after an attack such as this, even if you weren't the intended target."

Inryla pursed her lips. "And so my desire to spend some time away from home is dashed upon the rocks, I suppose. Very well. Fine. I shall be aboard the packet ship that sets sail for Ulthuan tomorrow."

Both Aclan and Dalos looked relieved. Weilstadt continued to stare off into space and let the conversation happen. There was an elf tending the garden that was clearly trying to pull a stubborn weed out without actually straining himself to do so and it was rather amusing.

"However, I do so on one condition", Inryla held up a finger. "Sir Aclan, you shall be joining my escort for the journey."

Aclan went bugeyed. "Me? My lady, your guards are surely sufficient…"

"That is my price. If you wish for me to leave this place, you will join us for the voyage to Ulthuan. You may part ways with us after we land and you allow my father to meet with you." Inryla declared, folding her arms in a gesture of defiance.

Aclan helplessly looked to Dalos, who gave him no aid. Weilstadt, silently laughing at the plight of the lazy gardener, was equally useless here.

"What about Volker?" Aclan asked.

"Hum? What?" Weil said, coming back to the conversation.

"He'll be welcome to come with, of course." Inryla said at once.

"Where am I going?" Weilstadt asked.

"Then...I suppose you've thought of everything", Aclan sighed, closing his eyes. "Very well, my lady. You win."

"Of course. I always do. You should know that by now", Inryla offered him a playful wink. "Ah, very well, then, my heart, we should begin preparations for our departure."

"At once, darling", Dalos said as the two of them left the balcony.

Weil and Ac watched them go.

"Dammit all", Aclan grumped.

"What is she winning and where the hell are we going?" Weilstadt asked.

He didn't receive an answer as Aclan stomped off.

"...dammit all, indeed", Weil agreed as he followed after his partner.

* * *

The elven Eagleship, the Spear of Mathlann, was probably a nice ship. Weil had no eye for such things. It was a "packet ship", apparently; a ship that followed a designated route back and forth. In this case, the route was between the elven city of Lothern and Marienburg.

The Spear was a graceful thing, its main hull apparently formed from a single specially shaped tree. That would have been a big plowing tree, then. It was about one-hundred feet in length, probably closer to one-hundred and twenty, and it had a much smaller, second hull attached to the main hull off the port side. Upon this smaller hull, a ballista was mounted. Eight more ballistae were lined up and down either side of the Spear's top deck. On the back end of the top deck was a small, pointed tower that resembled what would be found in a castle, save that it was made of wood and not stone. At the top of the tower, beneath the peaked roof, was a tenth ballista. Archers manned small windows below the artillery platform. The elves with spears and bows, who Aclan had called the Lothern Sea Guard, stood at battle ready posts around the ship while elven crew members in much simpler garb tended the triangular sails.

Having recently been on another ship, Weil was ready for another plodding journey across the waves. How little he knew about the vessels of the elves. The Spear of Mathlann ripped through the water at an incredible pace, fairly skimming over the crests of each wave. It was joined by two much smaller Hawkships that Weil did not know the names of. These little escorts kept pace with their larger cousin.

The one in charge of these three ships was Lord Commodore Sevanis. He was probably as close as one could come to the human idea of manly with his square jaw and stereotypical eyepatch. Sevanis had flatly ignored Weilstadt's presence ever since he told his human passenger not to touch anything, and that failure to follow that command would mean being thrown to Mathlann's mercy.

Weilstadt was having increasing difficulty liking elves as a whole, all things considered.

The coast had faded away and the light of the day was rapidly following. Weilstadt was on the bow of the ship, enjoying the refreshing feeling of the cool wind whipping past him after spending time in the undesirable air of Marienburg. It would only be a little while longer and they'd be back on the mainland, heading off to whatever new adventure awaited them.

"I suppose I should be thanking you", Aclan said from behind Weilstadt.

Weil turned to the side to see Ac arrive at the bow beside him. The White Lion's gaze was directed toward the horizon.

"For?" Weil asked.

"For not allowing me to flee from Inryla as I had attempted to", Aclan revealed, leaning his elbows upon the railing of the Spear. "I do not know what I was so worried about. Perhaps I thought she'd hate me, or maybe it would turn out that Dalos was not so good a match for her and I would have to curse myself for my exile."

"Ranald's bones, Ac, and I thought I overthought things. You care about her. You're just coming to terms with the fact that what she needs from you is friendship, not romance."

Ac nodded, "you are correct. Seeing her with Dalos has done a great deal in helping me begin to accept that. But...hm…", he paused, then, "...well, hopefully I will get a chance to speak to Lord Calahir once we are in Lothern. He deserves a better explanation than the one I gave him when I departed all that time ago."

"I'm sure you'll get the chance." Weil assured him. "Oh, and you're welcome. I'll be remembering this. You actually said something nice to me."

"I'll return to openly pondering the fact that you've managed to survive for this long before you know it", Aclan sighed. In an awkward gesture, he lightly clapped Weil on the back and said, "until then, you truly do have my gratitude."

"Sure thing, Ac", Weil said, a grin forming on his face. "And now that you're uncommitted, I can help you in the search for a new lady love. I've read quite a few books with this sort of thing in them, you know…"

Aclan took his hand away, "and like water poured into Vaul's Anvil, my goodwill evaporates. Forgive my saying it, Volker, but I'd sooner trust a skaven for relationship advice."

"Oh! 'Trust a skaven', he says!" Weil exclaimed, lifting his hands in melodramatic outrage.

The banter between the two adventurers went on for a little bit longer. From the tower at the after of the ship, Lady Inryla looked on and smiled.

* * *

It was a beautiful, sunny day upon the Great Western Ocean. Weilstadt was sitting with his back against the gunwale of the Spear of Mathlann. He had purchased two new novels in Marienburg in anticipation of this trip, and currently he was thumbing through the pages of Lady Hilda: Knight in Disguise. He'd heard it was something of a scandalous volume from the book merchant but Weil really wasn't seeing it. There were a few female knightly orders in the Empire; the Lances Radiant and the Viridian Inquisitors were two Weil could think of off the top of his head. Maybe it was just offensive to the Bretonnians (as if they needed any other reasons to get offended).

On the thought of Bretonnian ladies, Weil briefly recalled Lady Francine, back in Heartstone. A slight frown crossed his features. What a tragedy that entire mess had been. Weilstadt shook his head, clearing out those bad thoughts. It was a motion he'd been needing to do more and more lately. As it turned out, a profession that revolved around new and different violence and terrors that one couldn't just get used to tended negatively affect the mind. Once more, Weil found himself somewhat missing the relative simplicity of the Sewer Watch. Down there in the tunnels, it had always been so cut and dried. On one side, he'd had his squad. On the other, there was their enemies, be they smugglers targeted for arrest or mutants subject to extermination. Eventually, it had all become routine; a daily grind just like a farmer or craftsman with a few extra dangers.

"Have to get your bread somehow", Weil murmured to himself as he flipped the page on his book and looked around the Spear. The crew was doing their business, messing with ropes and rigging and whatever else sailors did. Aclan was going through his form drills in the middle of the deck minus his axe in the close confines of the ship.

Weilstadt realized that the guard manning the Eagle Claw bolt thrower beside him was not so subtly paying more attention to his partner than her post.

"I'm sure he'd appreciate admiration in words as well as looks, Miss Gweyir", Weil greeted as he looked back down at his book.

The spearelf twitched. She turned an outraged look on Weilstadt. The wind making her braided hair dance madly behind her rather diminished the effect.

"Mind your tongue, dustling", Gweyir hissed.

Weilstadt let out a sigh that, if directed at the sails, it would have stopped the Spear of Mathlann dead in its tracks.

"Miss Gweyir, one is enough for me. If I have to deal with anymore angsty elves during this little diversion, I am going to save the Lord Commodore the trouble and just put on a pair of iron shoes before I throw myself overboard." The Sewer Jack spoke plainly.

It seemed to have the desired effect. Gweyir was taken aback by the blunt response. Her impetus lost, the Sea Guard tapped one foot in consternation.

"Allow me to be even more frank", Weil went on. "If you don't go say something to him, I will. And trust me...it's going to sound much better coming from you."

Apparently, the idea of having a human speak on her behalf was utterly terrifying to Gweyir. She made a ghastly face like she'd just watched a spider crawl out of her soup. This was immediately followed by her closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to steel her nerves.

Weil flipped the page in his book. "He likes horses, hunting, and history. Good luck."

Gweyir mouthed the three words, said, "right", and took a step forward.

At that moment, there was an explosion out on the water. Weilstadt leapt to his feet and saw the viridian green fireball as it clawed at the sky.

"Oh, plow me running", Weilstadt swore as he saw the source.

One of the Warp-cutters went up in flames. Scrix cursed loudly, lashing about with his tail in anger. Of course the imbeciles would send him with a faulty ship! The traitor rats in Clan Scruten must have planned for that to happen. When Scrix returned after achieving his vengeance, it would be the rat-meat of Scruten that fed Scrix's victorious warriors.

The Warp-cutters were ramshackle, arrowhead shaped vessels, only about thirty feet long. These new vessels were not powered by paddlewheels, but by spinning, chopping blades like the ones on the gyrocopters of the dwarf-things. Warpstone reactors powered the propellers, pushing the Warp-cutters forward at blistering speeds. Clan Scruten used the swift craft to raid the ships coming in and out of the man-thing city of Marienburg, and they were the only boats in the Clanfleet of Scruten that could catch the elf-things. Scrix had been forced to pay Grey Seer Mukol a great many Warp tokens in exchange for the use of Scruten's ships. Scrix had never made any sort of agreement in regards to giving them back! Hah! Stupid Grey Seer.

Nine ships had set out from the coast. The one that had just blown up was the third one to do so. Acceptable losses, really. That meant fewer mouths to feed afterwards. The six remaining Warp-cutters would be more than enough to take out the elf-thing ships. Each Warp-cutter was manned by twenty Clanrat marines and a few Stormvermin. A Warlock-Engineer piloted each boat, while pilots' apprentices tended to the Warpstone Reactors. Finally, there was a Warplock-howitzer mounted on the nose of each cutter.

With a throaty chuckle, Scrix rose from his command throne that had been crudely bolted onto the Warp-cutter he'd commandeered. The man-thing had stolen Scrix's sword, but the Warlord was confident that his barbed spear, Gutbringer, would be more than sufficient.

"Charge! Go! Kill-slay!" Scrix cried, lifting his spear in the air as the howitzers fired.

Greenish explosions punched through the water a short distance off the aft of the Spear of Mathlann. The elves were already gathering themselves, preparing to repel boarders. Weilstadt had quickly retrieved his weapons from below deck. He'd have to go without his armor. A steel breastplate would be a death sentence if he was thrown overboard.

The Hawkships moved to harry the incoming raiders, knifing through the waves on an intercept course. The Spear of Mathlann turned to present her starboard side to the enemy, her bolt throwers loaded and ready. The Sea Guards had their bows ready to fire. All in all, there were twenty Sea Guards. The sailors of the Spear manned the bolt throwers. They were armed with boarding pikes and short-bladed swords. Weilstadt felt unease. They were going to be badly outnumbered.

Perhaps Ac had been right. It was looking more and more like Lady Inryla really was the target, if the ratmen had followed them all the way out here.

The Lord Commodore exited the aft tower. He'd donned an elaborate, winged helm in addition to his light armor, and was carrying a bow and spear that were identical to those of his Sea Guards.

"Soldiers of Eataine! This deck is not just a ship, but an extension of Ulthuan's sovereign soil", Sevanis bellowed to be heard over the wind. "Do we suffer invaders on our homeground?"

"NO!" Was the resounding reply.

"Then by Asuryan's hand and Mathlann's grace, we will strike these ratmen down. The Cadai watch over us! bolt throwers, prepare the scattershot!" Sevanis declared. He nocked an arrow upon the string of his bow and looked out over the water.

The view was not promising. The Hawkships were trying to skirmish with the skaven vessels but it looked like they weren't used to being slower than their opponents. The asur vessels were more maneuverable by far, but each time they tried to break away, the skaven boats caught up to them.

The deciding moment was when one of the raiders, whether on purpose or accident, crashed headlong into one of the Hawkships. Both vessels were obliterated in another explosion. This was swiftly followed by the remaining skaven boats ganging up on the last Hawkship. It was surrounded and boarded.

"bolt throwers, fire!" Sevanis commanded.

It was an order of cold, calculated logic. The Hawkship was doomed. Five clusters of six ballista bolts were hurled across the water, flying eighty yards to fall among the bunched up skaven. It was hard to see the effects of the attack, but surely some of the ratmen were slain. The bolt throwers fired again just seconds later, and again after that. It was like Weil's crossbow on a much larger scale.

The skaven boarded their ships again, turning them to come after the Spear of Mathlann amid a hellish rain of ballista fire. One of the raiders was belching smoke from its back side and barely moving at a snail's pace, its reactor stuck with several bolts. Ghostly, green fire quickly started spreading over the skaven boat and the crew dove into the water. For a few optimistic seconds, Weil felt his fears slipping away. The Spear could surely stand up to this assault at this rate.

The howitzers on the skaven boats roared.

The bolt thrower on top of the aft tower of the Spear exploded into a shower of splinters as the weapon, its two-elf crew, and a chunk of the tower were torn from the ship. Another skaven shot smashed through the side of the Spear, scattering several Sea Guards and sailors.

"Hold your ground! Bolt throwers, return fire!" Sevanis barked, unbowed by the attack.

The skaven were coming in hot, clearly intent to board. They had to face straight ahead to use their howitzers, and the longer they maneuvered around the Spear of Mathlann, the more the vastly superior marksmanship of the elves would whittle them away. The only hope the ratmen had was to swarm the Spear and take her by storm.

The skaven drew close, two boats attacking from either side of the Eagleship. They slowed down, hurling hooked grapnels attached to rusting chains over the railing of the Spear. Skaven slingers whipped stone bullets up at the elves even as the asur pelted their enemies with bows. The densely packed skaven, lacking the elevated cover of a railing like the elves, died quickly, many unceremoniously shoved out of the way and overboard by their fellows. Here and there down the railing, a sling stone would clank against an elven helmet and the unfortunate asur would be sent sprawling. The bolt throwers, now at point blank range, were much less effective without their projectiles having room to spread out.

Weilstadt filled in a place on the railing as one of the Sea Guards collapsed. He picked the nearest skaven boat and barely even had to aim, pumping the trigger on his crossbow against and again. He was firing almost directly downward as the ratmen began trying to climb up the side of the Spear. His bolts smashed the boarders down, sending them into the water where they would be crushed to a paste in between the two bumping watercraft. The skaven were far from finished. By the time Weil's bolts ran out and he was slinging his repeater over his back, the skaven were already within melee distance. The Sea Guards jabbed downward with their spears, warding the ratmen away. The unarmored skaven at the front died like the meat shields they were meant to be. Where numbers weren't enough, the plate and chain clad Stormvermin evened the odds. It was not long before the skaven gained the deck and the fight began in earnest.

Weil stood his ground, shoulder to shoulder with the asur of the Spear. The first skaven to poke its nose over the railing had its snout sheared off by Weil's spatha. That skaven fell away, making way for two more. Weil stabbed the one on his left with his gladius, fencing off the scimitar of the second boarder as it landed and splitting open its belly with a slash from his right hand blade. A Stormvermin landed just beside Weilstadt, snarling at him as it chopped with a looted dwarf axe. Weil crossed his swords, catching the skaven's attack between the blades. The Sewer Jack guided the axe down and to the right with his spatha. Instead of the expected slash from his gladius, Weil instead bopped directly downward with the pommel of the shortsword. The blow cracked something in the Stormvermin's snout, allowing Weil to follow up with a slice through the black rat's vulnerable underarm. Weil then used his superior size and strength to get under the Storvermin and pitch it over the side.

The weight of the skaven numbers didn't quite push the asur back from the railing, but it did cause their defensive line to fracture as the deck descended into a general melee. From one of the archer's windows in the remnants of the aft tower, Lady Inryla was continuing to rain arrows down upon the skaven. Dalos was in the thick of the fray, a duelist's rapier in his good hand and a light buckler strapped to the other. The one-armed elf showed his skill at once as he parried a Stormvermin's glaive by angling his shield to deflect the blow away, then riposted straight through the blackfur's eye.

The deck was in chaos. Elf and skaven slaughtered each other with unremitent fury. The ratmen tried to isolate pockets of asur and overwhelm them, while Commodore Sevanis seemed to be specifically trying to counter these attempts and keep his force as intact as possible. The battle ebbed and flowed across the deck of the Spear of Mathlann as surely as the waters of the Great Ocean did beneath them.

At one point, Weilstadt was being back up by a pair of ravenous Clanrats, the brown furred beasts hacking and snapping and clawing. His progress was halted as he ran into something behind him. Weilstadt's attention flicked back just quick enough to see who was behind him. A mad smile crossed his face as Aclan looked back at him.

"Down in the deep!" Weilstadt called the battle cry of the Sewer Jacks.

The two of them, back to back, circled and traded spots. As Aclan came around, his greataxe swept in a reaving arc. The two skaven that had been just about to pounce upon Weilstadt were both cleaved through by that single blow, spilling their innards upon the deck. Meanwhile, Weilstadt ducked under the swipe of the swift striking Stormvermin that had caught Aclan on his back foot. Weil drove upward, putting both swords under the blackfur's breastplate, lifting the brute off the deck, and tossing the Stormvermin away with twin arcs of black blood.

The two former Sewer Jacks caught each other's eye for an instant.

"Where the best still sleep!" Aclan finished the motto.

The two adventurers bumped fists, nodded to each other, then charged in opposite directions, back into the fray.

Weilstadt's momentum almost carried him straight into a disembowelment. A Stormvermin emerged from around the central mast, a surprisingly fine sword in its paw. It was a forward-curved, thin blade, and the tip of the sword ripped through Weil's shirt and carved a shallow furrow along his belly. Weil yelped in surprise and knocked the sword away. A blackfur came at him. One of its eyes was a crude construction of dark metal and green, glowing glass. It was definitely laughing.

"Man-thing is surprised to see Scrix?!", the skaven wretched the words. "Scrix not forget you! NOW YOU DIE-DIE!"

"...who are you?" Weil asked, legitimately confused.

The ratman, apparently named Scrix, leapt at Weil. Weilstadt had begun to learn his lesson and did not give ground against the blackfur's onslaught. Instead, Weil focused on moving side to side, keeping his balance and not allowing the Stormvermin to gain momentum against him as the two of them battled around the central mast. This blackfur had more skill than its fellows, managing to keep up with Weil's paired blades with only one sword. The fury that drove the ratman in its hacking, slashing frenzy was something unheard of. It began leaking a filmy mixture of oil and blood from around its mechanical eye.

Weil found his gladius knocked from his hand as Scrix managed to hook its sword around and cut open Weil's palm. The Sewer Jack grunted but did not despair, changing his stance to favor his remaining weapon. Weilstadt waited as Scrix once more launched itself at him. He waited until the very last possible second.

Weilstadt dove to the side. Scrix's sword struck only the wood of the main mast, gouging deep. The ratman screeched its displeasure, violently trying to jerk the sword free. It did come free, but only half of it, the thin blade snapping.

Scrix had just brought the broken sword in front of itself when its old sword, wielded by Weilstadt, cut off its hand. Weil lowered his shoulder and pushed the shrieking skaven until the blackfur was pitched over the railing and fell down into the water.

The skaven, true to form, broke as their leader died. They scrambled for their boats, harassed by the elves the entire way. Only two attack boats, neither of them full, managed to escape the battle.

Wondering why that skaven had it out for him, Weil inspected his wounds. The one in his hand went deep. He'd have to get some good doctoring done to it if he didn't want to lose any mobility in it. Son of a bitch. He found his gladius among the detritus on the deck.

Weil looked around as the elves, with practised stoicism, began cleaning up after the fight. Weilstadt admired dwarfs, and they were generally more friendly. Still, he knew the elves as a race had lost a great deal. That they carried on as they were doing right now was something Weilstadt respected.

Near the front of the ship, Weil watched as Gweyir held a skaven body in place, helping Aclan wrench his axe free from the corpse. Gweyir said something, to which Aclan nodded slightly and spoke in return. They jointly hauled the dead skaven to the side of the Spear of Mathlann and threw the corpse into the sea. It wasn't the most promising ice breaker. It likely wasn't the worst, either.

Weil set himself to pitching in.

* * *

The wound was bad enough. The salt water made the pain blinding. It was an almost transcendent moment.

How? How had it come to this? The man-thing had beaten Scrix in combat? Surely no man-thing could ever hope to defeat the greatest of all skaven? Yet, here Scrix was, slowly being dragged down by the weight of his armor, leaving a black trail of blood through the water above him. He was too shocked to even try to swim for the surface.

As his lungs started to burn and Scrix's vision started to get fuzzy at the edges, he saw it. A shadowy shape. A herald of the Horned Rat! It had to be! The god of the skaven had taken note of Scrix's greatness and would not let him die just yet. Scrix Bellyslicer needed to live and save Under-Empire!

The shark, drawn by the corpses in the water, bit the foul tasting morsel with the green eye in half. Shaking itself, it spat out what it had eaten. The shark moved on to try to find a more appetizing meal.

* * *

Lothern was incredible. The city was a gleaming, white gem that glistened in the sun. Lothern's two halves straddled an inlet the led into the Sea of Dreams inside the cradling circle of the island. Three colossal, gem-encrusted towers, one ruby, one emerald, and one sapphire watched over the harbor, their Sea Guard garrisons manning multiple levels with bolt throwers. The towers truly sparkled in the light of the say. Set into the mountainsides that flanked Lothern on either side were giant statues of asur. They were Phoenix Kings, Everqueens, and various elven heroes, according to Aclan. Countless Hawkships patrolled the waters, as did flying chariots towed by giant eagles. The latter thing took Weil a second to process. Apparently, the Skycutters of Lothern were their best outriders and watchmen.

Lothern was also a massive city, and Weil was surprised to find large numbers of humans and even dwarfs walking the crowded harbor. There were the expected taverns and such, but there were also a lot of "pleasure houses", to quote Ac. Apparently, a brothel was fancier when an elf did it. Go figure.

Weil had been led to a doctor who was actually a mage. It had been a quick and painless process to heal his hand and stomach. It left Weil wondering why they didn't develop magic more back in the Empire. He then, of course, remembered all those little details like the possibilities of daemonic possession and horrific mutation.

After a day of drinking and lazing about Lothern, commiserating with some of the human residents about how the asur sure could be arseholes at times, Weilstadt returned to the Spear of Mathlann. Lord Commodore Sevanis's attitude toward Weil had warmed a little since the battle at sea. He didn't openly look upon the Sewer Jack with contempt anymore. It was a start.

Around tenth bell, Weil looked out across the docks and finally spotted Aclan. The elf had changed significantly. The gambeson he used to wear was gone. Ac had on the breastplate, gauntlets, and greaves of the light steel plate favored by the elves. He also had the open fronted scalemail skirt the Sea Guards had. Most noticeable, however, was the long cloak of white fur that was draped across his shoulders. The upper half of the dead lion's head rested upon Aclan's shoulder.

As Aclan neared the ship, someone called his name and he stopped. Gweyir weaved her way through the crowd, stopping breathlessly before Aclan and handing him a paper-wrapped bundle. Aclan accepted the package with visible confusion. After a few exchanged words, Aclan offered her one of his rare smiles before walking away. When he turned his back, Gweyir almost melted into the sidewalk.

"You didn't spend our reward money on that fancy cloak, I hope", Weil snarked as Aclan ascended the gangplank.

"Only yours", Aclan replied. He then tossed Weilstadt a coin purse. "But in all seriousness, Lord Calahir extends his thanks to you."

Weil caught the pouch and hefted it in his hand a few times. "Job well done, then. You're sure about coming back to Marienburg?"

"I am", Aclan said. "I have learned much in my time away from Ulthuan. I do not yet think I am ready to rejoin the White Lions. This was a good first step on that path. Now...now I believe I am ready to truly seek my redemption."

"Glad to hear it." Weil told him. "What's in the package?"

"I haven't the slightest clue", Aclan admitted. He ripped into the paper and came away with…

"A scarf?" Weil asked.

"Apparently so", Aclan observed. It was an unevenly crafted thing done by unpracticed hands. "I am guessing this deep violet, light blue, and silver are supposed to be the magenta, navy blue, and white of Ellyrion. Hm."

Weil, holding back a snort, scanned his eyes across the docks. "Put it on."

"What?"

"Put the damn scarf on, you great buffoon." Weil urged.

"Alright, alright", Aclan relented, throwing it around his neck. "Hm...it is quite soft, I suppose. Smells like...huh...like the wild heather that grows in Ellyrion. Why did you have me put this on?"

Weilstadt looked to where Gweyir stood, clenched her hands in giddy triumph, then melted away into the crowd.

"Heh, no reason", Weilstadt chuckled. "Now. Onto the next adventure."

* * *

_Our growing habit of being diverted by people from our past, blessedly, went away for a while after that. The packet ship took us back to Marienburg. From there, we booked passage on a river barge to Altdorf._

_Aclan's normally dour demeanor returned shortly, but it was much less abrasive now. I was glad to play some small part in helping him on his own personal journey. We are each our own harshest critics. When Ac returned to the ship with that lion cloak across his back, that told me he had finally, truly, learned to start letting go of the past. It was something I was trying to do as well in leaving the Sewer Watch._

_I prayed we would both find our way. With new determination, the both of us sought it all the more fiercely._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 5: Over the Hills and Far Away."_


	6. Interlude: First Edition

Not every job was an epic clash at sea or the toppling of a Borderlands principality. For every large scale job Weilstadt and Aclan took part in, there were three or four lesser tasks they would end up trudging through. They'd done everything from working security at a stage play to hauling sensitive cargo through the streets of Talabheim.

Today, the order of business was zombies. A nobleman in Altdorf recently learned that the head of a cadet branch of his family, previously thought dead, had actually become a necromancer. The Witch Hunters of the Order of Sigmar had already caught the necromancer elsewhere, but that left the man's mansion still full of undead servants.

Weil and Ac slowly made their ways through the musty halls of an old mansion. Weil led the way, his crossbow in hand. Pale, grey light filtered through cracked and broken windows. The floor creaked beneath the tread of the two adventurers.

They reached a doorway. It was open. Weil leaned around the corner and aimed into the room, finding a lone zombie inside a child's bedroom. The rotting, emaciated corpse wore the filthy remnants of a Reikland State Army artilleryman. Sensing prey, the zombie clumsily wheeled about. A crossbow bolt struck it in the forehead. The zombie collapsed. Head shots weren't essential when fighting the undead. They needed to be damaged enough to disrupt the necromantic energies that sustained their unlife. That being said, destroying the brain or decapitation were the most reliable ways to do so. Otherwise, a zombie could be hurt badly enough to kill a person twice over and still keep going.

However, these zombies were barely a threat. Weil and Ac took them seriously, of course, but that just made the job that much easier. Without the necromancer that animated them to guide the walking corpses, the zombies barely had the intelligence of an animal. So, room by room, one by one, the two adventurers carefully exterminated the zombies.

They had cleared every room but one. Weilstadt opened the closed door and found no undead inside. It was a library, the commonly found sort in a noble's manor. Shelves lined the walls, dust-filmed desks sat in the room's center. Seemed the necromancer was not fond of potentially getting rotting flesh on his volumes. It was not a huge library, by any means, but there were still easily over one-thousand books in there.

"...anyway, _that _rash eventually went away, and thank Ranald for it", Weilstadt was saying as he walked into the library.

"If you never spoke again, I would count myself lucky", Aclan complained, "what are you doing? We need to do a checking sweep so we can leave."

"Oh, I'm sure Graf Blucher won't mind if I help myself to some light reading", Weilstadt said as he started perusing the stacks.

"Ugh. Very well. I'll watch the door", Aclan relented.

Weil walked slowly, skimming his eyes over the spines of the books. Most had not been disturbed in ages, all of them coated in dust and cobwebs. It seemed the necromancer's tastes were mostly of the mundane historical kind. Unfortunate. Oh well. Weil would have enough money to buy a new book after this job was done.

Weil reached the last shelving unit and discovered it was where the late corpse-master had kept his sparse collection of fiction.

"'Sir Concord's Conundrum'. Hm", Weil said to himself, taking the book and putting it in his pack. He grabbed a couple other volumes at random and was about to call it good when a fourth books caught his eye. The author's name was familiar to him. Weil took the book.

"Alright", Weilstadt said. "Let's sweep the house. Hopefully we'll find another zombie. I miss having someone with a cheery attitude around me."

"I will be glad to allow you to have an extended chat with the next one we find", Aclan muttered as the two of them vacated the library.

* * *

Before he could go about his other business, Weilstadt had a stop to make in Altdorf. There was a reason he and Aclan had passed through the city as often as possible, even if they weren't taking a job there.

Weilstadt was by himself for the day. He made his way to a lower middle-class residential neighborhood. Here, the housing was almost completely uniform blocks. They weren't the cleanest or the nicest, but they kept the rain out and Watch occasionally patrolled the area. People here were furtive and quiet. They wanted to be left alone, to earn their almost decent pay for their labors and wait for a big break that would probably never come.

Weil stopped at one of the blocky houses. With a sigh, he knocked on the door.

It didn't take long. The door swung open, revealing a hunched old crone in a bright headscarf and a thick, woolen dress. She knocked her cane upon the straw covered floor. Somewhere behind the old woman, Weil could hear a child reading aloud, an old man's voice occasionally correcting the boy's pronunciation.

"Frau Becker", Weilstadt said in an uncharacteristically muted voice, bowing his head.

"What do you want, boy?" Frau Becker griped.

"Is Klara here?" Weil asked.

"No, she's about her work at the seamstress", Frau Becker replied snappishly.

Weil nodded. That's where Klara always was when Weil came calling, even when she wasn't.

"How's Tobias?" Weil inquired.

Frau Becker's craggy face set into a deep frown. "I tell you this every time. Do not pretend to care about him or about Klara. You proved well enough you don't care about anyone but yourself."

"And I suppose this is proof of that, then", Weil murmured bitterly as he held up a full coin purse.

Frau Becker took the money. "It's proof that you aren't a completely baseless animal. But, you could give me all the gold in the Emperor's castle, Sigmar bless his reign. It wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough. You abandoned your family, boy. The others may not live to hold you accountable but you can be certain I will as long as there's life in my bones."

_Which hopefully won't be for much longer_. Weilstadt thought but did not say. Aloud, he said, "as you say, then." He couldn't quite keep a lid on his frustration.

"Don't take that tone with me, boy", Frau Becker snipped, poking at Weil with her cane. "Rikter never talked to his elders that way. He was a good lad and let himself be raised right. He was the perfect husband for our Klara. If you ask me, Morr took the wrong Weilstadt."

That was the final straw. If he stayed any longer, Weil was going to say something he would regret.

"We can agree on that. Good day, Frau Becker", Weil said, turning on his heel and leaving the house behind. As usual, the exchange had been quick and exceedingly unpleasant. As usual, it left Weilstadt wondering if he was ever going to make up for his mistakes.

* * *

Weil stood across the street from a wrought iron fence and hesitated. Third afternoon bell would be sounding soon. Around him, Altdorf continued to go about its endless, buzzing cacophony of activity that would not cease until the day Sigmar Heldenhammer returned. It had been a little over a year and a half since he had last stood outside this gate that he currently faced. It already felt like a lifetime. The discussion with Frau Becker earlier in the day had Weilstadt doubting if he should even consider coming here. He looked down at the paper-wrapped rectangle in his hands. Weil had made a promise. He would be keeping it.

The Sewer Jack finally crossed the street, addressing the one of the guards clad in green and violet livery on the other side. "'Scuse me, friend."

The guard blinked, "can I help you si-...wait...I remember you, I think. Herr Weilstadt, right?"

"That's me", Weil confirmed. "Is Lady Karolina here?"

"Should be. Right this way, sir, His Lordship probably wouldn't want us to make you wait on the sidewalk", the guard insisted.

Weilstadt gladly followed the man inside. Little had changed about the von Bauman estate since he was last here. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait for very long.

Lady Karolina emerged at the top of the stairs in the foyer, still dressing the part of a gentleman rake as she had back before. However, the long braid of platinum hair he remembered was gone, replaced by a chin-length bob that framed Karolina's face. She lit up into a smile as she descended the stairs.

"Well, if it isn't my knight in shining armor" Karolina said with glee. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about me."

Weil shook his head. "I don't think that's possible, my l-..."

Karolina gave him a look.

"...-ina. Lina", Weil corrected himself.

"There you go", Karolina said happily. "Is Aclan not with you?"

"He's getting his equipment tended to." Weil explained, then paused. "Er, literally. By a blacksmith. That wasn't a euphemism."

The Lady von Bauman laughed at that. "I had assumed. Sigmar's grace, I see though you've left the Watch your mind remains in the gutter."

Karolina reached the bottom of the stairs and came before Weilstadt.

"I, ahm...your hair suits you", Weil pointed out.

"Oh, you think so? I'm glad to hear it. It was so very tired of it being so long and unwieldy", Karolina idly fiddled with her bangs. "I could say the same to you. You've certainly changed your look."

Weilstadt grinned, a little embarrassed. The long shag of black hair that he'd kept for the longest time had begun to look silly after the wound he'd received on the side of his head in the Borderlands kept the hair from growing back in a long swathe. So, he took a page out of the book of some Nordland mercenaries he and Ac had encountered, shaving down both sides of his head and leaving a long stripe ending in a ponytail directly on top of his scalp. It likely didn't look nearly as cool as he'd thought it did back then.

"Aye, well, had to make due. Didn't want to be bald just yet", Weil said, running his hands over the stubble on either side of his head.

"A lot of new scars, too", Karolina noted. She was a bit less cheerful to point this out.

"Lots of new stories to go with them", Weil said.

"Well, I'm sure you'd be more than happy to regale me with them over a pint. There's a good alehouse just a couple blocks over", she looked down at the rectangular package in Weil's hands. "Did...you didn't bring me a present, did you?"

Weil cringed. "I saw it and figured you might like it. I know it might have been kind of presumptuous." He handed the gift over.

"Weil, you shouldn't have", Karolina said happily, carefully undoing the string and paper that protected her gift. When she finally saw what was within, her smile turned to shock. "'Let the Winds Cry Justice' by Iago Vodacce…"

"I remembered you saying 'A Midnight Stroll Through Mousillon' was your favorite book so when I saw another by the same author I had to grab it." Weil explained. "Do you already own it?"

"I...no, I don't, it's...well...it's a first edition copy. It's banned in the Empire, Weil, for having depictions of necromantic rituals that are too accurate to real life", Karolina gave a sheepish grimace.

Weilstadt felt his stomach drop into his boots. Ranald's bones.

"I am so sorry", Weilstadt insisted, putting his face in his palm. "I had no idea."

"No harm done", Karolina insisted. She summoned a waiting maid and said, "take this to the nearest fireplace and burn it, please." As the maid took the book and hurried off, Karolina looked to Weilstadt with sympathy, "it was a very thoughtful gesture, Weil. I am happy that you thought of me, even if the source was about raising the dead."

"I just figured that flowers were so overdone that it was time to try something new", Weil said, laughing to himself now that he knew there was no danger.

Karolina smiled. She suddenly threaded her arm through the crook of Weilstadt's elbow, causing the Sewer Jack's posture to go ramrod straight in an instant.

"I'm actually rather fond of the classics. Which is why you'll be buying me a drink", Karolina decided as she guided Weil towards the door.

"Just the one?" Weilstadt asked, caught on the proverbial back foot.

"Hah!" Karolina laughed boisterously. "We both know the answer to that."

* * *

The alehouse was, indeed, nice. Vederman's Den was, in fact, _too _nice. Weil could feel his remaining coin shrivelling in his pocket. Luckily, Karolina had only made him buy the first round before realizing the location was not so financially feasible to one without noble means. The two of them sat in a semi-private booth, tucked into an alcove in the wall inside the Den. Weil sank into the bench he was seated upon. Someone was playing a cheerful violin somewhere in the establishment. It was a brightly lit, pleasant smelling place.

"You seemed so at home in those inns on the way to Lichtzeichen, I'm surprised your tastes are this elevated", Weil joked.

Across from the Sewer Jack, Karolina tilted her head to one side and shrugged. "It's quiet here. Relatively, anyway. Sometimes a little peace and quiet are good."

"For sure", Weil agreed. "Oh, I forgot to ask, how is your father?"

"He's doing well. Much of his time is currently tied up in the reconstruction and repopulation of Lichzeichen", the Lady von Bauman explained. "It's the sort of work he thrives in. He'll be glad to hear you stopped by."

"Is that so?"

"By the Comet, you should hear him. 'If all our people worked half as hard as those Sewer Jack lads, Lichtzeichen would be as big as Altdorf now.'" She giggled. "He was impressed by you two. His offer of employment is still on the table, I am compelled to tell you."

Weil considered it for a moment. Maybe it was time to settle down. But he vetoed the idea just as quickly. Aclan wasn't ready to return home yet. Weilstadt wasn't ready to find a new one.

"It is generous but I'm afraid I have to decline again", Weil told her apologetically.

Two tankards made of beautifully lacquered wood were set down before them by a passing server.

"I assumed. I don't blame you for wanting to continue the adventurer's life. Though I wouldn't be upset if your next visit was sooner than a year and a half from now", Karolina said. She picked up her tankard. With another laugh she said, "To _Sir _Weilstadt."

"And to the Warrior-Lady of Altdorf", Weil said in kind.

They clacked their pints together and took a drink. Looking across the table from each other as they did, it suddenly turned into an impromptu drinking contest. Weil was the first to set his tankard to with a satisfied sigh.

Karolina's hit the table a couple seconds afterward. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and admonished, "wouldn't chivalry dictate that you let the lady win?"

"I never said I was a _good _knight, Lina", Weil replied, innocent enough.

"Hah. Just so", Karolina granted with a grin, which softened into something else. "Are you feeling alright, Weil? Pardon my saying it but you seem a bit distracted."

Weil cocked his head, not expecting that. He'd thought he was concealing his woes. But, Karolina had been a perceptive woman when he'd last seen her so there was no reason for that to change.

"There have been some...less than good days on the road for Aclan and I", Weil admitted.

Karolina frowned. "Do you need to talk about it?"

"I wouldn't want to spoil your good mood with that. It's in the past. I'll be fine."

"Weil. I'm your friend, am I not?"

"I'd like to think so", the Sewer Jack said, wondering if he had offended her somehow.

Karolina reached across the table and gently placed a hand over top of one of Weil's. The Sewer Jack tensed.

"Then I don't care what kind of mood I'm in. I'm here to help you, just as I would hope that you'd be there to help me if I needed it. You understand?"

Weil felt a tightness in his chest, an upwelling of emotion.

"Aye", he said quietly. "I understand."

"Good", Karolina said back as she withdrew her hand, her voice soft. "Whatever troubles you, please, give it voice."

Weilstadt did so. He was hesitant at first, but with each word he grew in confidence. He spoke of a lot of things, knowing full well he was probably rambling at a few points. His time in the Watch, the tragedy in the Borderlands, the death of Desideria, and several other moments throughout his time adventuring that had begun to weigh on Weil without him realizing it. Karolina listened intently, encouraging Weilstadt when he faltered and offering her perspective when he got confused. Before long they had organically shifted to a pseudo-philosophical discussion about, stereotypical as it might have been, the definition of what it meant to be "good".

However, try as he might, Weil couldn't quite allow himself to discuss what happened with Frau Becker. That would open up an entirely new avenue that the Sewer Jack wasn't ready to walk down just yet.

The pair sat in that alehouse for several hours. By the time most would be just hitting their stride, noblewoman and adventurer were both fairly drunk and in agreement that they'd best cut themselves off there.

As Weilstadt walked Karolina home, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from his spirit. He'd been able to open up and not worry about being judged. Aclan didn't exactly judge Weil, and the Sewer Jack certainly considered the elf his friend, but Aclan came from a completely different mindset. Even though she was an Imperial noblewoman and her upbringing couldn't have been more different, Karolina had really seemed to understand.

When they reached House von Bauman, the pair stopped outside the front gate. A few seconds ticked by as neither spoke.

"Thank you for everything, Lina", Weil told the Lady von Bauman. "Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

"And thank you for your company this evening", Lina said in kind. Her freckled cheeks were flushed in the aftermath of the ale. "I wouldn't be opposed to another one if you planned on being in Altdorf for a while."

"Oh, I'm sure I could talk Aclan into finding a few jobs around here", Weilstadt replied.

"Actually...hm…", Karolina put a finger to her chin. "There _is _something you can for me. Could I convince you to remain in Altdorf for another week?"

"What happens in a week?" Weilstadt asked.

Karolina smiled in a mischievous way as she backed away toward the gate of her family's manor. The guard on duty opened it for her as she drew near. "Why, the Goldgather's End Ball at Schloss Waurik, of course."

"Wait...you mean…", Weil started to say.

"Indeed I do", Karolina confirmed. She turned around and began walking away from him. "I hope you don't mind formalwear."

_Well...this isn't going to go well._ Weilstadt thought to himself as Karolina disappeared inside the estate.


	7. Dance of the Dead

_As you have likely gathered by now, I have never been fond of most nobility. _Noblesse oblige _has ever been a dead concept in my eyes, however much I wished the opposite to be true. So, Karolina's invitation to a noble ball was far from the most enticing thing. However, she was one of my few friends, and thus, I felt compelled to accept. The fact that it would be such a fateful event should have been a given in retrospect. At the time, though, I lacked the presence of mind to really remember what my life had been like since leaving the Sewer Watch. The Goldgather's End ball was a good reminder._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 6: A Blood Price"_

* * *

Boris Goldgather was, most likely, the most hated Emperor in the history of the Empire of Man. That was likely why the day of his death was even still a holiday. Usually, people would partake in fasting in the week leading up to Goldgather's End. Weil had never joined in that particular tradition. He'd spent enough of his life with an empty belly that he figured he'd earned his keep on that front.

However, the week of fasting was officially over. On that day in the early summer, even before noon, people around Altdorf were quaffing wine by the gallon from cups fashioned to look like skulls. The skull represented Goldgather's head, a final insult to the legacy of Boris the Incompetent. He had hid in his palace and indulged in lavish parties while the Empire suffered under plague, famine, and war with beastmen (though some, like Weil, knew that those "beastmen" had to have been awfully ratlike after hearing the stories of that time…). Now, the common folk of the Empire sullied his memory with every sip of wine.

Weil may not have gone along with the fasting, but he was willing to switch from ale to wine. Nothing wrong with getting into the spirit of the holiday, right?

"I've drunk vinegar that tasted more like wine than this", Aclan complained as he swirled the maroon liquid in his wooden skull mug.

Weil snorted, "why were you drinking vinegar?"

Aclan narrowed his eyes. The two of them were leaning back against the bar of tavern that took up a street corner. The bar itself was actually just long window that opened to the street. Weil and Ac were one of countless people that were patronizing the normally easygoing establishment on their way from one indoor tavern to the next. Human and elf watched as early revellers set themselves on the path to debauchery, vomiting, and crippling hangovers. The crowds would only grow as those who had to work during the day of the holiday were let out of work. For the first time, though, Weilstadt would not be joining these people when the sun went down. No. He was going to take part in one of the worst things he could imagine.

"A plowing noble ball", Weil groaned leaning his head back to stare up at the awning that hung over from the building that housed the outdoor bar. "Why the hell did I agree to this?"

"Because you want to wick the Lady von Bauman", Aclan guessed.

"Ac. C'mon." Weilstadt chastised him.

"Tell me I'm wrong, then", the elf said with an indifferent shrug, taking another drink of terrible wine.

"Lina's my friend. I just don't see her that way", Weilstadt explained. "No, I'm sure she just wants me to come with her to fend off the attention of potential suitors. Woman like her has to have a flock of them yipping at her heels."

"At least you know who you're going with", Aclan grumbled. "You didn't have to rope me into it as well."

"Look, I'm sure cousin Konradina is a perfectly lovely young lady. Lasses swoon over the pretty, broody elf act...so, you know, just be you", Weilstadt advised.

"I do not brood", Aclan argued with a rather brooding expression.

"My mistake", Weil chortled. "Look, it's gonna be food and booze on someone else's coin. Dance a couple times, pretend to listen when puffed up fops talk to you, it'll be a breeze."

"'It'll be a breeze.' You said that exact sentence before that job with the striga in Praag", Aclan reminded Weil.

"I didn't realize the plural of 'striga' was also 'striga'", Weil defended himself.

"And that time we got mixed up with those warrior priests of Taal", Aclan went on.

"Those Longshanks were perfect gentlemen. We were only tied up for one night", Weilstadt blew it off.

Aclan did not relent, "and let us not forget the swamp in Ostermark."

Lifting his hands in outrage, Weil complained, "look, how was I supposed to know those cultists could swim in all that armor. You worry too much, Ac. This isn't even a job, it's just a party for a bunch of high society types. They won't even bother with us."

"And if they do?" Aclan asked.

"Hah, well, then…", Weilstadt drained his mug, let out a satisfied sigh, and said, "...then at least it won't be boring."

* * *

Karolina had said that she hoped Weil didn't have a problem with formalwear. It turned out that Weil had a very big problem with formalwear, in that most of it was plowing stupid. The Sewer Jack decided that if he ever had to wear ruffled pantaloons, he would ask that he be killed and served with a side of onions to the nearest ogre.

Luckily, the tailor that Karolina had sent Weil to had taken one look at the tattooed thug before her and decided the style of Ostland would be his garb. It drew heavy inspiration from neighboring Kislev; a long tunic of white and green belted at the waist with matching breeches underneath and a shoulder cape on his left arm. The boots were dark brown, almost black, polished to a sheen. All in all, it could have been worse. Weil decidedly _hated _breeches, for what it was worth.

Weilstadt had bathed, trimmed his beard, and gods have mercy, combed his hair. It was more than he'd done for even the Elven Embassy in Marienburg. Weil wondered how the folks at this ball would measure up to elves on the unbearability scale.

One way or another, Weilstadt left his room at the inn and knocked on Aclan's door down the hall.

"Ac, time to go." Weil informed the elf.

"_I'm straightening my hair", _Aclan's muffled voice replied.

Weil blinked. "Ain't it already straight?"

"_I don't expect you to understand with that rat's nest you keep on your head."_

"Alright, Your Majesty, well I'm gonna be down at the bar until you finish powdering your arse", Weil informed his partner. Aclan said something in reply but Weil was already walking away.

It didn't take much longer before Aclan descended into the common room of the Deaf Cannoneer. They'd let him keep his navy, magenta, and white robes from the embassy in Marienburg. The elf's hair was, indeed, incredibly straight now, definitely longer than most humans be they man or woman. His white lion cloak, freshly cleaned, was draped over his shoulders.

"Are you ready for your Prince Charming to pick you up, Your Highness?" Weil asked as Aclan descended the stairs.

"It would be a pleasant change of company to be around someone who isn't comforted by the smell of the sewers." Aclan griefed his partner.

"It _was _always warm and cozy down there, even in winter", Weil reasoned. He paid his tab and got up from his barstool, checking one last time to ensure his spatha was secure. It was peace bound, as was Aclan's blade, but weapons had been allowed into the upcoming ball under that condition.

Thus, the two adventurers left the Deaf Cannoneer, making their way through Altdorf to the street out in front of House von Bauman. The gate guards let them through with only a word. They entered the front door, stopping in the foyer, and waiting for the ladies they would be accompanying. The idea of Karolina in a dress was strange to Weilstadt. He wondered if she would wear one or if she would go another route. He was also admittedly curious about this cousin Konradina that Aclan would be escorting. All Weil had been told was she was the middle child of Karolina's Uncle, Graf Bertolt von Bauman, who directly supervised Baron von Bauman's two largest territories.

Weilstadt was nervously twiddling his thumbs when he saw movement at the top of the stairs in front of him.

Karolina had, indeed, bucked the trend once more. She wore a pseudo-militaristic suit in her House colors; a heavily starched, high-collared jacket of bottle green with a cravat of violet silk around her throat. Karolina's black riding boots went to her knees, the space between jacket and boots filled by pristine, white breeches. Her broadsword was buckled around her.

Unlike Karolina, the woman who had to be Konradina was of a much more traditional bent. She was shorter than her cousin, stockier as well, wearing a burgundy gown that exposed her shoulders, hugged her torso, and flared out below her waist. Her elaborate head of chestnut ringlets bounced excitedly beside dangling, jingling earrings.

In short, the two couldn't have been more different from a visual perspective. They emerged at the top of the stairs, chattering and laughing, then looked down to see the ones that would be accompanying them. Both began descending the stairs.

"Is that them?" Konradina asked. She flicked open a hand fan and started waving it beside her face.

"That would be our gentleman escorts, yes." Karolina said with a smile. "Herr Weilstadt, Herr Aclan, this is Lady Konradina von Bauman, my dear cousin. Dina, this Volker Weilstadt and Aclan of Ellyrion. They're the ones who stopped the attack on our house last year."

"How do you do, gentlemen", Konradina greeted politely as she reached the bottom. She approached Aclan and held out her hand, "I understand that you'll be my escort this evening."

Aclan took the offered hand, the tall elf having to bend ninety degrees as he leaned down and kissed it. "Indeed, my lady, and I'll count myself the luckiest man in the room for the privilege. Tell me, from what garden of roses were you plucked from?"

Konradina's cheeks flushed at once. The flapping of her fan increased in frequency. "Th-the privilege is all mine."

Weilstadt rolled his eyes. Damn pretty elves and their honeyed words.

"Is that envy I see, Sir Weilstadt?" Karolina said out of the corner of her mouth.

"Something like that, aye", Weil replied quietly.

One of the gate guards entered the foyer, saying, "my lady Karolina, your carriage is ready and waiting for you out front."

"Alright. Let us be off." Karolina prompted everyone, then under her breath toward Weil, "and Sigmar help us."

* * *

Hood's breath was shaky and uneven. No matter how many times he did this, he could not get over the fear. It was only natural, after all. Some deep seated part of humans could not, on a fundamental level, bear the forces of Old Night. Those that tried to, the necromancers, Chaos cultists, and such, were twisted. They mutated, they withered, they went insane. It was not a matter of strength of will, however long it might delay the inevitable; mutation, a withering of lifeforce, or death. Even when something was gained, something was always lost. Hood knew this well. He had seen it more than once, both in his own family and in others.

Yet, here he was, consorting with those very same forces. Humans could not bear the forces of Old Night, but they could bear the forces of avarice even less.

In the dark, disused storage room, motes of dust slowly danced in the moonbeams filtering through the thin slots of the shuttered windows. The light was unwholesome, tinted with green. The brighter, cleaner moon, Mannslieb, was being outshone by its sickly cousin; Morrslieb. The waiting was the worst part for Hood. He just wanted this to be over. Hopefully, this night would be the last time.

The hairs on the back of Hood's neck stood up. It was time. The sensation only occurred because the newcomer in the room wanted Hood to know they were there.

"My dearest Hood. You look tense, my love." A sultry voice cooed. She spoke Hood's pseudonym with unveiled mockery. He hadn't thought that hard about it at the time. Hood had been wearing a hood when he'd first needed to make up a name. Why fix what wasn't broken?

Hood let out an involuntary gasp. "J-Just struggling to contain my excitement to see you again", he said. "Tonight's the…", he gulped, "...the big night."

"So excited yet you won't even face me. Are you ashamed of me, my love?"

_Dammit. _Hood swore in his mind. Slowly, he turned around to look into the shadows across the room from him. Slowly, a figure emerged. They were completely covered by a thick cloak. They, too, were hooded, but their false name was much different. As they came forth, a moonbeam fell across their nose, mouth, and chin, revealing porcelain skin and ruby lips.

"I could never be ashamed of you, Carmina", Hood said adamantly. He had seen what happened to those who angered her.

Carmina smiled slightly. "Good. Very good. Our enemies will be present tonight. Yours _and _mine. We will both get what we want in one fell swoop. Even if Baron Waurik and his family survive, they will be utterly disgraced."

Hood resisted the urge to ask, _and then you'll leave me alone? _He said, much more diplomatically, "then...what lies ahead of us afterward?"

"You needn't worry about me, my love", Carmina assured him. "You will have your path to all your desires cleared. You shall be free to do as you please."

Relief flooded through Hood. "Your generosity is boundless."

"Of course it is, my little pet. My kindness to those who do right by me is second only to one thing…"

Carmina became a blur before Hood could even inhale to ask what the one thing was. Suddenly a frigid hand was holding him by the throat. Long, sharp fingernails tickled at the flesh of his neck. Hood whimpered.

"...and that is the wrath I deliver upon those who fail me." Carmina finished her statement.

"I...won't...fail…", Hood choked out.

Carmina released him. Hood stumbled back, catching his breath.

"I am glad to hear it", Carmina said. She seemed to glide over the floor as she sank back towards the shadows. "I have some final preparations to make. I shall see you soon, my love. Our victory is well in hand."

Hood felt his heart waver as Carmina faded back into the gloom amid a fit of low, giddy laughter. The last thing he saw was her lips pulling back in a rictus smile and the vampiric fangs that glistened in the viridian light of Morrslieb.

* * *

Waurik's estate was only a short carriage ride away from House von Bauman. Weil figured they could have walked but he wasn't opposed to a free ride.

House Waurik was much more fashionable than the von Bauman estate. Almost all the windows were fanciful stained glass, depicting Sigmar and Ulric triumphing over greenskins, beastmen, and daemons, among countless other scenes of battle. Their carriage joined a long line offloading their important cargos onto the front walk before the Waurik manor.

When their carriage arrived, thankfully, Aclan got out first to set an example. The elf trod down the two steps on the side of the carriage to the ground, immediately turning around to offer a hand to Lady Konradina and help her down. Fluidly, Ac shifted to face House Waurik and held his right elbow away from his body, allowing Konradina to slip her own arm through his.

Weilstadt climbed out of the carriage to mimic this. He missed the bottom step on the side of the wagon and almost fell on his face, but managed to catch himself. Clearing his throat as the nearby Waurik guards stared at him, Weil turned to help Karolina down from the carriage to find that she was already climbing down of her own power.

"Wise move, to get the tripping out of the way now so you don't do it when it's time to dance", Karolina commented with an impish grin.

Weil gave her a flat look as he offered her his arm. "You enjoy my suffering, don't you?"

"Misery loves company, Sir Weilstadt", Karolina said, taking his arm and following right behind Ac and Konradina.

"I take it this isn't exactly your favorite thing either", Weilstadt observed. He looked up at the gothic mansion that loomed over them, then to either side. Waist-high hedgerows lined either side of the walkway leading to the front steps of House Waurik. They bloomed with flowers of every color, made visible in the night by the lanterns on poles held by at-attention house guards that flanked the path.

"I despise noble balls", Karolina admitted.

Weilstadt did his best not to laugh. He did not entirely succeed.

Karolina affixed him with a long suffering look.

"As I said. Always in the gutter", Karolina sighed, but went on. "But no, I can't stand the preening and posturing and politicizing, all under the veil of a social gathering. They should just call it what it is and be done with it. Nevermind that everytime I attend something like this word gets around that I'm still a bachelorette with no siblings so any husband I married would have claim to a lot of my family's lands."

"Your father can declare you the sole heir, can't he?" Weilstadt asked.

Karolina tilted her head back and forth, "yes and no. Father can bequeath his land to me, but as an unmarried woman, it would be much more difficult for me to hold onto it all. However, even though it would be easier to keep if I _was _married, that would inherently be putting power into this theoretical husband's hands that I would not want to give up to just anyone. Thus, you see my dilemma."

"Hm. Well...admittedly don't know much about that sort of thing. Sorry to hear it", Weilstadt said a bit lamely.

"It is what it is", Karolina said with a shrug. She patted Weil's arm that she held, "the point is, there are likely going to be a few gentlemen that ask me to dance this evening. I hope you're not the jealous type."

"I have enough personality traits that'll likely get me killed without adding jealousy to them", Weilstadt joked. "Why are you here if you hate it so much?"

"Because father wants the von Bauman family to be seen, even if only to remind people that we exist. I may hate the event, but helping father supercedes any of my feelings." Karolina was resolute. "Having you here will be a nice change of pace. I need to be able to swear at someone without them swooning from shock."

Weil snorted, "honestly I'll probably swoon from shock that a woman is talking to me."

"Oh? I'll have to make sure we're on the stairs when that happens", Karolina replied with a grin as they ascended the front steps of House Waurik.

The ballroom of House Waurik was upon them before Weil knew it. It was a high-ceilinged room lit by crystalline chandeliers. Grand tapestries lined the walls, each one showing sequential stages of the ancient Battle of Blackfire Pass, the battle in which Sigmar Heldenhammer cemented the Empire of Man over two-thousand years ago. Suits of plate armor, holding halberds, lined the walls. Servants carried trays of champagne glasses, weaving expertly through a crowd of nobles who barely acknowledged they were there. The champagne was, naturally, being served in skulls crafted from gold-tinted glass. A four-piece string band was currently sawing away at their instruments with horsehair bows.

The current style for men appeared to be, surprise surprise, poofy, stupid, ruffled pantaloons. They also seemed to like jackets where the sleeves weren't actually sleeves but just strips of fabric that hung down beside their arms. Neck ruffs were, apparently, a thing as well. On the other hand, it looked like Konradina was following the trend for the ladies, though colors were all across the spectrum. Of course, there were those who did not follow the fashion scattered about the room.

"Now what do we do?" Weilstadt asked as he looked around the room to all the people standing in groups and talking.

Konradina excitedly said, "meet people, Herr Weilstadt! Get the news from all the drama in the Empire! Oh, Herr Aclan, you simply _must _meet Lady van Huer", the short woman started dragging Ac along, "Selma! Selma, my dear, you look simply _gorgeous_…!"

Aclan looked back at Weilstadt with a helpless expression. Weilstadt saluted him.

"Off she goes", Karolina said with a wistful sigh.

"This happens a lot?" Weil asked.

"Dina _lives _for ba-...", Karolina stopped herself, looking up at Weil with played up anger. "...lives for these events."

This time, Weil did stop himself from laughing, but not from smiling. "Well, can't fault her enthusiasm. What do _you_ normally do at these?"

"Find a corner to stand in, drink, and wait until propriety dictates I'm allowed to leave. If someone talks to me, I do my best to be polite until they leave me alone. If someone asks me to dance, I usually say yes just so I can subtly try to make them trip while we're dancing", the Lady von Bauman cringed at this last point, "I...know that's probably not the nicest thing."

"Oh, I'm sure a few of these gentlemen could stand to be taken down a notch or two." Weilstadt reasoned. He snatched a pair of champagne glasses from a passing servant and handed one to Karolina. "Hopefully they'll serve the strong stuff later. How about you choose your corner and I'll follow, then we can make fun of people and pretend we're better than all of them like real nobles do?"

"Ugh, I thought you'd never ask", Karolina said.

The night proceeded much more easily than Weilstadt had anticipated from there. Karolina and he maintained their position on the edge of the room, the noblewoman telling Weilstadt all the juicy rumors about the people she noticed. Weilstadt got to be entertained by watching Aclan get hauled around the room by Konradina, but the elf was taking it all in stride. A few people did come up and speak to Karolina but there wasn't anything of substance said. It was mostly party goers wanting to know how her father was doing, how the reconstruction of Lichtzeichen was going, etc. Weilstadt was pointedly ignored, but not with the same blatant rudeness as the elves in the embassy had shown him. It was more of a discomfort, Imperial nobles not knowing what to say to a man that was clearly a heavily tattooed and scarred commoner. Which was fair. Weil had no idea what to say to them, either.

Eventually, people started dancing. Watching Aclan dance with someone so much shorter than him was certainly amusing. As Karolina had predicted, a few gentlemen did ask her to dance. One of them was actually Baron Wittgen Waurik himself, a lanky man with patrician features on the founder of the feast, as it were.

Weil was, admittedly, somewhat interested in the apparent etiquette of everything going on. That there was obviously a social pecking order in the room was not surprising. Watching the way different people approached others with varying levels of eagerness or disdain was kind of fascinating. Seeing, for example, a clearly married man reluctantly ask a clearly married woman to dance and seeing the woman be just as reluctant to accept begged a lot of questions. Why did they both feel compelled to do this but neither of them wanted it? An old affair? Some kind of business arrangement between the families requiring a discreet discussion on the dance floor? Weilstadt's imagination ran wild.

The theoretical "belle of the ball" appeared to be a tall, svelte woman with auburn hair. The neckline of her crimson gown was one of the lowest cut in the room, only emphasized by the teardrop ruby hanging down from the choker of black lace around her neck. She was asked to dance repeatedly, allowing each petitioner to kiss the back of her satin-gloved hand, but appeared to politely decline each one.

"...but that was _after _Count Ribeaux found out the two of them were...Weil?" Karolina was saying.

"Hm? What now?" Weil jumped.

Karolina gently rapped him on the arm, "I didn't realize I was boring you so badly."

"No, no, not at all", Weil insisted, feeling his face get hot.

"Be at ease, I was only joking with you. I know it's a lot to take in", Karolina assured him. She followed where his gaze had been, "I see you took notice of the Bachelorette Baroness, Isabel Monte. Hah, I've been tempted to ask her for a dance myself."

"I'm guessing that sobriquet was earned somehow", Weil noted.

Karolina nodded, "indeed. She's been engaged three times but it's fallen through every time."

"Foul play?"

Karolina shook her head, "no. Failed negotiations, it's my understanding. She has significant mining holdings in the Grey Mountains. So, she's beautiful, well-spoken, charming, and rich. Altdorf's most eligible bachelorette, it's said. Thus, the name."

"I see", Weil said. "I'll leave her to the...to the...the uh…"

"Weil? Are you alright?" Karolina asked, then once more followed his eyes.

Another woman in an azure velvet gown cut in Bretonnian style approached. It was conservative in that it covered more but it was more form-fitting than was the fashion. The sleeves, hem, and squared neckline were trimmed with cloth-of-silver. Weilstadt recognized the porcelain skin, the hair of platinum blonde that was delicate as the strands of a spider's web.

"Good evening, Herr Weilstadt", Lady Francine d'Val Savroix greeted in a voice so soft it sounded like the music might carry it away. She was hanging onto the arm of a skinny, bespeckled man in a doublet and hose of blue and silver silk. A velvet beret, stuck with a yellow feather, was cocked upon his head.

"Lady Francine", Weil said, knowing his shock was plain to see.

"It is good to see you again", Francine said with a slight curtsey. "This is Earl Cyprien d'Rondeau."

"Herr Weilstadt. Lady Francine spoke most highly of you", Cyprien said, extending a hand.

_She barely interacted with me. _Weil thought, immediately on edge. As he shook hands with the Earl, Weil said, "good to meet you, my lord. This is Lady Karolina von Bauman."

Karolina exchanged her greetings with this pair.

Francine looked at Weil and said, "Herr Weilstadt, forgive me if this is a forward thing to ask, but would you please honor me with a dance?"

"Uuuhm…", he looked to Karolina for guidance, who gestured him forward with a tilt of her head. "Aye, of course."

Francine offered her hand, which Weil took with only a couple of his fingers. Her hand was icy cold. They joined the other dancers.

"I've never really done this before", Weilstadt revealed.

"Allow me to lead, Herr Weilstadt. Simply follow my steps." Francine was almost whispering.

Weilstadt stared at his feet and kept himself from stepping on Francine's feet until he got the steps down. They spun along with everyone else. It took Weil a little bit to get it down but eventually he managed to fall into the rhythm.

"I confess to feeling relieved that you survived the battle at Spite, Herr Weilstadt." Francine said. "I was certain that anyone who made it through would have been slain by the forces of Westerly upon their return."

"The dwarfs of Karak Klon helped Aclan and I make it through", Weil explained. "Didn't expect anyone to make it out of Heaststone."

"Steward Jacques gave his life to ensure I got on a horse and managed to escape." Francine said regretfully. Her sadness had a profound effect on Weil. It was rare to see such an untainted, pure innocence in Weil's everyday life.

"Well, gods keep him. I'm glad you made it, Lady Francine", Weil told her.

"You're too kind, Herr Weilstadt." Francine smiled. It was a sweet expression.

"Spend a bit more time around me, my lady, you'd likely be second-guessing that statement", Weil joked. He continued glancing up and down to ensure his feet were on the right course.

Francine's laughter was a ghostly, distant thing, seen much more in the twinkle in her eyes than heard in her voice. Weil felt something stir within him at the sight.

"That you can endure so much bloodshed and strife and still be able to make your jests speaks volumes for you character, Herr Weilstadt", Francine said, making eye contact with Weil. "I was regretful that I could not speak to you back then in Heartstone. This opportunity fills me with joy."

Feelings that Weilstadt had not felt since he was in Brockel started cropping up. For once, being reminded of Desideria didn't bring Weil sorrow. It was a reminder that he could allow himself to feel things like joy, attraction, desire. Francine had cut through everything and made him see so clearly, so easily, so…

So…

…

Weil blinked hard. No. It wasn't from Des. Weilstadt had felt this pull before, but it was not from a person. It had been an object; a sword of vampiric origin that had reached into his mind without any effort and compelled him to strike Aclan. The illusion was gone. Weilstadt exerted his will and forced out the creeping, silken tendrils that were trying to ensnare his mind. Francine was no longer the innocent Bretonnian lady.

Instead of being taken aback, Francine just smiled.

"Made of sterner stuff than the average man, I see", Francine said with a confident smile.

"No. Just happened to have encountered such a thing once before." Weilstadt replied. "Guess now I know how you actually survived Heartstone...vampire."

"Go on. Tell everyone here", Francine said sweetly. "See who they'll believe."

Weil's heart hammered. His sword would be next to useless against a vampire. He had to play this right.

"I'm not your enemy, though, believe it or not", Francine promised him.

"How convincing", Weil dryly rebuked her. Francine's dainty grip could immediately start crushing his bones if the vampire wished it. However, she couldn't do anything too obvious, either.

"Something terrible is going to happen tonight", Francine ignored Weil's rebuke. "Cyprien and I are here to stop it. Our enemy, Carmina, is somewhere in this room. One of her servants had taken over Westerly, you know. That's why I was down in the Border Princes, enduring the pathetic attempts at dominance Duke Commandant Brandt inflicted upon me", Francine giggled at the memory. "He sobbed like a child when the Westerly soldiers cornered him."

"What does that have to do with me?" Weil asked.

"I need all the strength I can get on my side. If something isn't done, a lot of people in this room will die." Francine grew serious. "Not every vampire is a monster, you know. Cyprien gives me his blood willingly so I don't have to risk hurting someone. Let go of your preconceptions and help me save some lives."

"If I was to agree to help you, what would you have me do?" Weil asked carefully.

"Leave with me and lend me your steel", Francine said. "Cyprien's skill at arms is not as great as yours. He will inform Lady Karolina and Herr Aclan about the reason for your departure."

This was so damn strange, Weil couldn't even begin to guess what was the truth. Trusting a vampire seemed foolish. But, Francine certainly seemed earnest. The Sewer Jack wondered if he should go against his gut.

"You're going to have to try a lot harder than that to convince me", Weilstadt decided.

The song ended. Weil stepped back, bowing to Lady Francine. She curtseyed back at him.

"Then I can only hope your help won't be needed", Francine said with regret.

They went back to Karolina and Cyprien. The bespeckled gentleman led Francine away. So, too, did Aclan and Konradina finally come back from dancing.

"You seemed quite taken by Lady Francine, but now you look like she turned down your marriage proposal", Karolina snickered.

"Lady Francine?" Aclan repeated, looking around the ballroom.

"Aye. The very same, Ac", Weil confirmed.

"Oh, that Bretonnian woman? I simply _adore _her hair, I've been meaning to go ask her what she does with it, Konradina gushed.

The smile on the shorter Lady von Bauman's face slowly faded as she saw the seriousness of those around her.

"What happened, Volker?" Aclan asked.

"Lina, take Lady Konradina and get her out of here", Weil said in a low voice. "Bring as many of your house guards back with you as you can. I'd say try to bring the City Watch but I don't think there's time."

"What are you talking about? What's going on?" Karolina asked, looking worried now.

He didn't want to say it in front of Konradina, but nothing short of the truth would convince Karolina to leave.

"Lady Francine is a vampire", Weilstadt murmured, looking around for eavesdroppers. "Cyprien might be as well. If Francine's to be believed, however, the two of them are trying to save everyone here from another threat; someone she called Carmina."

"Vampire…?" Konradina breathed, the color draining from her face.

"It's alright, Dina, I'll get you home safely. We'll take the carriage", Karolina acted at once. "Weil. Herr Aclan. Be safe."

"Have I ever been anything but safe?" Weil asked her.

"I recall you leaping from a moving wagon", Karolina said, growing serious. "I mean it. Stay alive."

Karolina began leading her stunned cousin out of the ballroom.

"Should one of us go with them?" Aclan asked.

"Damned if we do, damned if we don't", Weil muttered as he watch the two ladies leave. "Fact of the matter is there's a lot more people in danger here than just those two walking home."

"A good point", Aclan agreed. "We need to search the rest of the house."

"Guards won't just let us", Weil countered him.

"No, but...hm…", Aclan rubbed his chin. "I have an idea. Follow me."

The elf led Weilstadt through the ballroom. Weilstadt found himself trying not to touch anyone. Who knew which one of them could be this mysterious Carmina?

Weil and Ac approached the two Waurik guards that barred the way through the double doors to the rest of the manor.

"Afraid the house is off limits, my lords", the left guard said, polite as could be.

"Do we look like lords to you, friend?" Aclan inquired, folding his arms.

"Uuuuhm…", the guard lowed, looking at his partner, who just shrugged. "Maybe?"

"We are security specialists hired by Baron Waurik to inspect the grounds and ensure no ruffians or ne'er-do-wells have come to skulk and try to disrupt this gathering", Aclan explained, official and sure of himself.

"I really ought to ask Baron Waurik…", the guard hedged.

"Of course, by all means", Aclan looked across the party to where Wittgen Waurik was dancing with a Kislevite woman, the both of them laughing and whispering in each other's ears. "I'm sure the interruption would be welcome."

The guard blanched at the idea, nervously fiddling with the pommel of his sword.

"We're here to make your job easier, friend. Trust me. You do not want to know what happened at House Junkers last week."

"Wh-...what happened at House Junkers?" The left guard asked.

Aclan leaned in a little bit, saying with gravity, "you do not want to know. If you let us do our job, you shall not have to. Understand?"

"Of course, of course", the guard said. "R-right this way, sirs. I will escort you as you make your rounds."

It would have to do.

The trio passed through the door. The guard shouted down the hallway to their left, "Wilhelm! Put the dice down and come take over at the door!"

"Ugh, sod off, you twit!" A whining voice replied, though another guard did emerge from down there.

"Name's Holtz, by the way", the guard said as he led Weil and Ac onward.

"Aclan. This is Volker", Aclan continued to take the lead.

"Well met", Holtz said.

"Have you noticed anything unusual around House Waurik recently, Holtz?" Aclan asked.

"Not really. Baroness Annika runs a tight house. Not that it stops His Lordship Wittgen from bringing a new wench home every few days", Holtz chortled to himself. "Ah, anyway, things have been boring as ever 'round here. We have men outside doing sweeps of the perimeter."

"Our interest is in places where one wouldn't normally suspect bad things to happen. I'm assuming this estate has subterranean levels?" Aclan continued his line of inquisition.

"Sub...ter...what?" Holtz flapped his tongue around the unfamiliar word.

"Underground. Basement, cellar", Weil informed him.

"Ah. Well, 'course it does. Baroness loves her wine, there's a big ol' wine cellar down there, plus some random storage rooms, the lord's vault, you get the idea. I can take you around down there and make sure everything's good." Holtz merrily chattered along.

The two adventurers followed Holtz through the manor, reaching a stairwell somewhere in the heart of the estate. Holtz grabbed a lantern from a shelf of several beside the stairs and lit it with a flint striker, saying, "none of the stuff down here's for the party so it'll be pretty dark. You gents might want some light yourselves."

Weil and Ac did as recommended, both lighting hooded lanterns and following Holtz down the stairs.

"Aye, these cellars are actually older than the mansion, used to be the foundation of three or four smaller houses, I've heard", Holtz narrated as they descended. "First Baron Waurik bought out all the properties, knocked 'em flat, and built this mansion."

The two former Sewer Jacks looked at each other. That sort of construction was just asking for a breach.

They reached the bottom of the winding stairs and emerged in between two rows of wine racks that went from the floor to the ceiling a scant foot above tall Aclan's head. About half of the diamond-shaped rack spaces were taken up by dusty wine bottles. The light from the lanterns cast long, creeping shadows that shifted across the floor as the three moved.

"All these are for the Baroness?" Weil asked.

"Heh, she's just as much a collector as an imbiber", Holtz guffawed. "Probably at least a few thousand crowns in wine down here, if you know which bottles to looks for. Which, of course, no one but the Baroness knows. One time, a servant tried t-..."

"Sh, sh...do you hear that?" Aclan stopped the jabbering guard.

All three listened.

"Is that...singing?" Holtz pondered. "Hm. Not very good, methinks."

"You better pray that it is", Aclan said gravely.

The trio reached the end of the wine racks, finding three more racks on either side of the ones they had come through. A stone wall was straight ahead of them. To the left, a hallway began after the last wine rack. To the right, there was a short stairwell that led down into a larger room beyond, it appeared. The chanting was coming from the right, and there was some kind of glow coming from that direction. They all headed that way. Weil and Ac undid the peace binding on their swords as they went.

"Oh boy. Baron Waurik's gonna be pissed if he finds out we let someone down here", Holtz fretted, holding his lantern up and trying to peer into the larger room as they approached. In here, freestanding shelves filled the middle of the floor, crates and barrels stacked around the edges of the room. What awaited them was...disheartening.

* * *

Hood realized he had been duped. It was by luck alone that he was not already dead.

Behind a shimmer barrier of violet-white light, two-dozen hunched, bestial things snuffled the air and creaked at each other. They had been human once in some distant past. Now they were malformed, evil things with hateful, hungry eyes. Their pallid skin was stretched tightly over their sinewy frames. The creatures were hairless, covered in tattered rags blackened by filth and dried blood. Some carried rusting pieces of metal or bone cudgels. Others just scrabbled at the masonry with their offal-encrusted claws. One by one, the crypt ghouls continued to emerge from the narrow burrow in the floor of the House Waurik cellar.

And there was the problem. Carmina had not given Hood a way to bind the creatures. Oh, certainly, she said she had. Carmina had said the ghouls would be bound after speaking the summoning incantation for the ninth time. The barrier had flickered when Hood stopped. His cowardly intuition encouraged him to start it again just as the ghouls started taking a clear interest in him but not his commands.

Now, Hood was stuck summoning yet more ghouls from the unclean depths of Altdorf's sewers. The degenerate cannibals had grown to forty in number and _still_ more arrived. Hood could feel the magic starting to strain at the very fabric of his essence. This was not the only magic he knew. If Hood could just get off a couple of spells, it might cow the ghouls long enough for him to escape. Then, Hood could flee to Kislev or Tilea or even the New World, far away from Carmina's traitorous grasp.

All these ideas brightened Hood's mood. He could do this!

Ironically, his mood was quickly dimmed as something hot and metal clanged against the back of his skull. Hood cried out and fell forward.

The incantation ended.

The ghouls were free to feast.

* * *

Weil's feeling of triumph as his lantern impacted the hooded man's head with a comical _ding _was dwarfed by the bowel watering realization that instead of causing the ghouls to panic and flee, Weil had, instead, unbound them from the sorcerer's hold. It was, however, the best option from a lot of bad choices. A sorcerer of any skill could have obliterated the three investigators. The ghouls were here, one way or another.

"Wh-wh-what are those…?" Holtz wheezed as the pack of beasts ripped the screaming sorcerer apart. Weil smelled urine. The guard had pissed himself. All things considered, it was a pretty measured reaction compared to most when they first encountered the undead.

"Something we are running away from!" Weil yelled. He drew his spatha and sprinted away, Aclan and Holtz right behind him. The ghouls were quickly bounding after them, retching and gibbering like the beasts they were.

Back up the short stairs the trio went, rocketing around the wine racks to hurry for the stairwell to the ground floor above. Weil glanced over his shoulder, seeing the mob of ghouls scrabbling over each other in pursuit of their next meal.

Holtz tried to take a leaf out of Weil's book, spinning while on the run to throw his lantern at the ghouls. He successfully struck one in the face. Burning oil sloshed out from the lantern. The wooden wine rack it fell upon caught fire almost at once.

That wasn't good.

The trio hit the stairs. Slowing to throw the lantern had put Holtz behind Weil and Ac. The guard looked back to see the swift moving ghouls were almost on him. He panicked, missing a step and falling on the stairs. Weil heard Holtz draw his sword, followed quickly by steel uselessly clattering against stone and the guard wailing as he was set upon by the cannibalistic fiends. The cold truth of the matter was Holtz's unintentional sacrifice gave Weilstadt and Aclan precious seconds to reach the top of the stairs and begin alerting the mansion with desperate yells. They ran flat out for the ballroom. If the ghouls got there before the guards could rally a defense, it would be a charnel house in there.

The ghouls had not been delayed for long. In spite of shouted warnings, people milled about in confusion until the ghouls became visible. Servants panicked and scattered, easy victims for the beasts. Guards died in ones and twos, only claiming a few of the fiends, their flesh and blood emboldening and strengthening the starving ghouls that remained. These continued interruptions served to let Weil and Ac arrive in the ballroom far ahead of the ghouls. They had to fight through a press of people that were fleeing the ballroom for some reason. They wouldn't listen to either Weilstadt or Aclan.

"Mercy of Isha…", Aclan exclaimed as they finally entered.

The dozen or so suits of armor from around the room were _moving_. Most of the party goers were running from them, trying desperately to squeeze through the doors to leave the ballroom. However, the strange thing was the armor was attacking anyone. A few of the braver men had their side swords swords out, uselessly attacking the suits of animate plate. The armored automatons ignored their attackers, using their hands and the back ends of their halberds to brush party goers aside as they formed a defensive line in front of the door where Weil and Ac emerged from.

"This must be what Francine meant", Weil guessed, thinking quickly.

"Or she's related to the man summoning the ghouls", Aclan pointed out.

Shit. "It's never sodding easy", Weil complained.

People who had fled towards the ghouls without realizing it were now scrambling to get away from them. Judging from the sounds coming from further in the hall, not all of them were successful in that endeavor.

"Armor ain't hurting people, ghouls are", Weil decided, falling in line with the automatons, shouting at the noblemen still trying to fight them. "Quick dulling your blades on the armor, you plowing fops! Get ready to turn your steel on something else!"

One of the nobles; a lanky, bald man in silk brocade, retorted, "and what exactly might that be?!"

Weilstadt pointed the blade of his spatha at the hallways where the first of the ghouls emerged.

The suits of armor let out a synchronized, low _thrum_, then fell into a combat stance much like the halberdiers of the State Troops would. There were renewed screams as those who didn't know about the ghouls saw them for the first time.

With another _thrum_, the dozen automatons took two steps forward as one, chopping their halberds into mob of ghouls, sending desiccated limbs and half-coagulated blood flying. As their fellows fell, the other ghouls scrambled over their own dead, throwing themselves upon the suits of armor. Others tried to flow around the automatons. Weil and Ac were there to meet them on the right flank of the armor suits.

Weil's spatha sheared through a bone cudgel as he parried it. He kicked out and knocked the ghoul back, driving his sword downward through its hunched back. Aclan slashed his sword wide, spilling the bloated guts of two ghouls with one sword stroke.

With a moment of breathing room, Weil looked back to the cowering nobles. Even those with swords stayed away, but the press of bodies at the door made escape impossible. One of the armor suits was pulled down, torn to pieces, wisps of smoky magical residue dissipating from it into the air.

Gritting his teeth, Weil lifted his sword and shouted at the nobles, "by the Hammer, do you bastards want to live forever?!"

With that, Weil threw himself against the ghouls, hacking into the beasts with little thought for technique. Another armor suit had fallen, the ghouls getting through the breaks in the line. The ten or so noblemen, shamed by a commoner, rose up to meet these creatures, driven by the mad courage of one who is backed into a corner with no way out but through what threatens them.

Smoke was starting to billow in from the rest of the mansion as the fire in the wine cellar spread. The battle within the ballroom reached a fever pitch as the corpse eating fiends ravened upon their foes. The implaccable automatons, reduced to half their number, stoically continued to thin the horde.

Weil could see the way the tide was turning. The ghouls were not unlike skaven in that their courage only extended as far as their advantage. Clearly, they were outmatched. Most noblemen at least knew how to handle a sword for duels, and the armor suits fought with the skill of veteran warriors, if a bit stiff in movement. The cannibal beasts started to run away. There was a cheer in the ballroom.

A deathly glow sparked to life behind the eyes of the score of remaining ghouls. Instead of escaping, they suddenly abandoned all thoughts of self-preservation. The fight renewed with great zeal.

Weil and Ac, who had been on the edge of the fray, did not get a chance to recommit. As smoke started clouding the room, a new figure emerged from the hall that had produced the ghouls. Weil recognized her almost at once, though the pall of smoke made it harder for his mind to process. She had torn away the bottom of her dress, revealing a pair of leather leggings strapped with what looked like knives. Her feet were bare. The Sewer Jack recognized the red hair, the distinctive choker with the dangling ruby.

What he had not seen before, however, were the taloned fingers and vampiric fangs that Lady Isabel Monte now showed. Weil felt his blood turn to ice water. Francine had been right. The Sewer Jack looked around but there was nothing nearby amid the dead ghouls and humans or broken suits of armor that could be used as a stake. But, he had one last idea. Weil rolled up his right sleeve as Isabel pounced. But her trajectory was off. Weil followed where she was faced…

...to see Aclan, his sword cut into pieces by Francine's claws, get knocked against the human adventurer. Weil fell as Aclan's full, unexpected weight bore him down. Weil cracked his head against the floor and saw stars in his vision even as the hazy shape of Isabel slammed into Francine with full force.

"A-...", Weil had to pause and throw up on the floor as dizzying nausea swept over him when he sat up. "Uch...Ac."

Weil looked over at his partner, who was lying on his back, clutching his chest. Francine's claws had shredded the front of Ac's robes and the shirt beneath.

"It's...it's not that deep", Aclan said through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. "I think…"

"Stay still. Keep pressure on it", Weil commanded in a worried voice, finding his sword beside him and grabbing it. "I'll get you ou-AAH!"

A ghoul leapt at Weil. The Sewer Jack barely managed to raise his sword in time. The ghoul impaled itself upon Weil's sword, croaking out its death rattle and dropping its bone cudgel. As the ghoul fell aside, Weil peered through the smoke and witnessed an epic clash.

Weil watched as Isabel picked up a halberd from one of the fallen suits of armor. She spat out a word of power and the polearm's head was shrouded in crackling, amethyst lightning. Francine picked up a pair of swords from dead noblemen. She clashed them together and let slip her own arcane syllables, shrouding her side swords in black fire.

"I've missed you, dear sister. The armor was a fine trick. Not enough, but impressive", Francine taunted, falling into a duelist's stance. Amid the corpses, smoke, and last gasps of the greater battle, the two vampires circled each other.

"I'll not let you escape me again, Carmina", Isabel snapped. "Tell me where he is!"

Francine laughed; a hideous, insane sound. "You have felt it, have you not? The bastard is dead! Slain by a Witch Hunter!" More laughter followed. "Sorry, my sweet, foolish brood sister. I'm afraid you're going to have to get used to that form."

Isabel looked like she had been slapped. "You're wrong…", she murmured, pale knuckles cracking as she held the halberd in a death grip, "YOU'RE WRONG!"

Isabel attacked, using a series of utilitarian thrusts to keep Francine back. The Bretonnian lady parried like a master diestro, deflecting at the barest angles to spare her relatively delicate swords. Where the magically infused weapons clashed together, bluish sparks popped and left behind matching smoke. Isabel levered up on her weapon, trying to put the halberd's pick point up through Francine's chin. The Bretonnian faded into a cloud of mist, reappearing behind Isabel and attacking with both swords. The black fire flared as the blades split the halberd's haft, but Isabel responded by throwing a knee into Francine's gut and giving her a very unladylike headbutt that sent the Bretonnian vampire down. Isabel discarded the back end of her halberd's haft.

Francine rolled back to her feet, saying some arcane words and spreading her swords before her. An arc of black fire sprang from the blades. Isabel flipped over it, lifting her weapon over her head and coming down as if to split Francine in twain with the axe blade. Francine, unexpectedly, leapt up to meet her. Both her swords stuck through the Imperial vampire's belly. Isabel screamed as Francine kicked off of her in midair, sending Isabel down to the floor. Francine, gracefully backflipping, landed on her feet. She blew a few stray strands of dainty hair from her face.

"Master always said your anger would get you killed, sister", Francine giggled. "Now, make peace with your Morr. He won't be happy to see you." She advanced on Isabel, who clutched at the wounds in her stomach.

Weil, his head throbbing, knew he had to do something. But what? Steel would not do nearly enough damage.

But something else would…

Weil got to his feet. The world spun. He felt like his brain was going to pour out of his nose at any moment. Even still, Weilstadt hobbled forward, picked up the severed half of Isabel's halberd, and moved as fast as he could toward Francine's back.

The Bretonnian turned around to face him in an instant.

"Herr Weilstadt, darling, it's a little too late to accept my offer." Francine simpered.

Weil did two things. First, he held up his right wrist, specifically, the tattoo of a coin bearing the image of a cat on the underside. The symbol of Ranald, the deity Weilstadt cleaved to.

"Ranald, Master of Shadows, beguile the sight of my foes!" Weil cried.

Francine hissed and cringed back from the holy symbol. It would not permanently deter her. It didn't need to.

With his left hand, Weil tossed his impromptu stake in the air, over Francine's head. He did this because he had seen Isabel drag herself to her feet. The Imperial vampire jumped, grabbing the stake out of the air, and fell, driving it down through Francine's shoulder.

The Bretonnian lady let out an ear splitting wail as the wood pierced her undead flesh. She dropped her swords as Isabel collapsed, the Imperial noblewoman's strength spent. Francine bowled through Weil and fled with blinding speed, into the thickening cloud of smoke coming from the rest of the mansion.

Weil, the very definition of confused, looked down at Isabel. She peered up at him through bleary eyes.

"Give...here...give…", she croaked, pointing to a dying, mangled ghoul just outside of her reach.

Weilstadt looked around the smoke-filled ballroom, coughing as he did. Aclan was up, moving gingerly toward Weil and saying, "we have to go, Volker!"

"Please…", Isabel begged.

_I could leave her. Just let the world be rid of another vampire._ Weilstadt thought. However, if what Francine...Carmina, whoever she was, had said was true, it was some spell of Isabel's that had animated the armor suits and saved everyone in the ballroom from the predations of the ghouls. Weil, Aclan, and a bunch of fops with passing dueling experience certainly wouldn't have saved the day.

Feeling the smoke start to burn his lungs, Weil got low to stay beneath it. He dragged the ghoul's arm just within Isabel's reach.

"Ranald decides…", Weil stopped to hack out his lung a bit, "...your luck from...here, my lady."

He didn't wait for a reply. Weil turned away, throwing Aclan's arm over his shoulder and helping him toward the exit. The crowd was mostly through now. Weilstadt did his best to ignore the trampled bodies they were passing over.

They watched from the street as the fire inside House Waurik spread and consumed the estate. Luckily, this wasn't the slums and the mansion was far enough away from its neighbors not to threaten them. State Troops and house guards from both Waurik and von Bauman were organized into fire fighting brigades, but they could do little but contain the blaze. Weil only hoped the smoke took anyone who was wounded to the next life before the flames did.

Weil and Ac were sitting down against the wall surrounding the estate of Wauriks' across the street neighbor. Ac held his chest but his breathing was stable. In front of them, party goers despondently watched the inferno that bathed the Noble Quarter in harsh, orange light. Some wept for those dead inside. Some prayed.

"How is it?" Weil asked.

"I will live", Aclan said with a pained cringe. "My sword made the attack awkward for her, I think. Either way, I would not be upset with seeing a physician soon."

Someone broke from the crowd in front of the adventurers.

"Shallya be praised", Karolina breathed. She was stained with soot and sweat. "Are you two alright?"

"Aye." Weil assured her. "My grey matter got jarred around but Ac probably needs stitches."

"And antiseptic, at the least", the elf clarified.

"Of course, I'll get you two to Doktor Larkinotz once the carriage returns", Karolina said, wiping her brow and smearing the soot. "These people are talking about you two like you're heroes."

Weil shook his head, "far from it. If not for Lady Isabel, we'd all be dead."

Karolina arched an eyebrow, "Isabel? How is she involved?"

"Long story, lass", Weil sighed. "Will tell you in the carriage."

"Fair enough", Karolina said, looking back toward the burning building.

Somewhere within, beams cracked and fell in, sending a shower of sparks skyward. Franci-...Carmina had to have some kind of motive for doing this. Weil silently swore to himself that even if he never found out what it was, he would make that vampire pay for what she did here.

* * *

Aclan was stitched up by the von Bauman's favorite, portly physician. Weil was given an herbal draught to decrease potential swelling inside his skull. Both adventurers suffered from smoke inhalation and spent several days in healing repose under the mother hen-like attentions of Karolina and Konradina von Bauman. The time of rest eventually came to an end. It was time once again for Weilstadt and Aclan to set out on the road. Alcan also had to purchase a new sword.

The two adventurers were in the foyer of House von Bauman. Karolina held a leather bottle and bundle of cloth.

"These are gifts from father", Karolina explained, handing them over, "vodka from Kislev and dried fruit. 'To make the road a little more welcoming', he said."

Weil accepted the gifts. "Please pass our thanks on to his Lordship. And thank you, both of you, for taking care of us."

"Absolutely", Aclan concurred.

"Well, someone had to help the heroes of Goldgather's End", Karolina said with a smirk.

"Heroes. Right." Weilstadt repeated, rolling his eyes. "Been called worse, I s'pose."

Karolina laughed. She stepped forward and threw arms arms around Weil's waist, giving him a hug. Weil, still holding Baron von Bauman's gifts, awkwardly hugged her back.

"You must come back and visit sooner this time, my friend", Karolina bid him with a gentle squeeze.

"I do miss our conversations", Weil said sincerely. "We'll make the effort."

"Good", Karolina said, releasing him.

Beside them, Aclan was holding both of Konradina's hands…

...what?

"I feel I've been swept up in a whirlwind when I'm with you, Herr Aclan", Konradina said both dramatically and gravely. "But, alas, it would never work between us. An elven soldier and an Imperial noblewoman? Such a thing…"

"I understand, my lady", Aclan replied, affecting stoic acceptance. "But rest most assured that you shall hold a piece of my heart until the end of my days."

"Oh, Aclan", Konradina let out a shuddering sigh, a hand to her forehead. "Begone before my strength leaves me."

Weil and Lina, both suppressing laughter, hugged one last time before the adventurers departed.

As they walked down the front walk of House von Bauman, Weil spoke up, "so…"

"Just get it out of your system", Aclan groaned.

"You give me shite for acting like the storybooks but what do you call that?" Weil asked his partner.

"Lady Konradina is a good-hearted woman. Definitely not my 'type', but regardless, I was just trying to show her a good time and make her feel special. My dignity can suffer a few slings and arrows." Aclan shrugged off the Sewer Jack's barbs.

Inwardly, Weil smiled. So, Aclan wasn't as stone-hearted as he'd have the world believe.

"Let's get you a new blade and check the notice boards", Weil suggested. "Hopefully we'll find something that takes us north. Summer's here, it'll be nice and mild up thataway."

"Do not jinx us", Aclan chided.

They left the von Bauman estate.

* * *

The road north had been positively pleasant thus far. They had reached the Middenland town of Schlagsdorf just as the sun was setting, as was the norm on the roads.

Aclan had gone to bed, but Weil had stayed up drinking and chatting with a band of adventurers out of Middenheim. Weil had managed to extract that they had a good lead on a lost dwarven hold and might be looking for a few more people to bolster their numbers. Weilstadt informed them that he'd speak with Aclan in the morning. Their hunt for a good job in Altdorf hadn't turned up much so they were in the market.

Weilstadt was about to head to bed, but was taking a moment to relieve himself against the wall of the alley out behind the Wolf's Den Inn. He was humming tunelessly to himself what he heard the scrape of a boot behind him.

"If you're here to kill me, 'least lemme pull my britches back up", Weil drunkenly slurred over his shoulder.

"I'm not here to kill you", a woman said.

"D'ah, Ranald's bones!" Weil swore, hurriedly buttoning up his trousers. He wheeled about.

Isabel Monte wore a maroon jack of plate, a piece of torso armor comprising steel plates sewn between outer layers of felt and canvas, above padded hose and mid-calf boots. Her makeup was gone, her red hair braided behind her head.

"You act as if I've never seen a man's manhood before", Isabel quipped.

"Ah, well in that case, I should just let it fly free for Sigmar and all the rest", Weil griped, composing himself and taking care not to step in the puddle he'd just made. "Why did you follow us here?"

"Firstly, to thank you", Isabel said, her pale face unreadable.

"Eh? For?" Weil asked. "Oh. Right."

A single nod from Isabel. "You could have left me to burn. Most would have gladly done so after seeing my true nature."

"Aye, well...you know...without that little trick with the armor, we never would've made it. So I figured you earned a pass in my book." Weilstadt reasoned. He was alone with a vampire. If she wanted to kill him, there was little he could do. Not all vampires had the same strengths and weaknesses. His tattoo likely wouldn't save him.

"Fair. Regardless, I have a proposition for you, Herr Weilstadt. Perhaps you'd be willing to extend your aid once more", Isabel began. "Have you heard of the Monte family?"

Weil shook his head. Gods. His bed was calling. He was too tired for this.

"Ever since the Vampire Wars all those years ago, my family has been dedicated to the task of slaying the monsters of Old Night, especially the undead. Generation after generation of Montes have given their all in the struggle. I am not the first to", she lowered her voice, "succumb to the vampire's curse. Some Montes even did so willingly to further increase their abilities."

Weil tried to listen but felt himself getting sleepy. Couldn't the history lesson wait until morning?

Isabel kept going, her eyes getting flinty, "I, however, never wanted this. I got what I needed from Carmina. Now I can seek out the rest of the components for the cure."

"Cure for vampirism? That exists?" Weil asked, admittedly intrigued now.

"It does." Isabel assured him. "Most of its parts are hard to find and expensive. The money is no issue for me. Travelling alone, however, is."

"Seemed able to handle yourself", Weil reasoned.

"The less talking and interacting with others I have to do, the less chance they find me out. You two are much more versed with the adventurer's life than I am. If my true nature _is _discovered, having mortal allies who know my intent is not to harm innocents would be a boon", Isabel said. "In exchange for your help, you'll have my skills at your disposal in your adventuring. I need only to be able to speak to herbalists, alchemists, and the like in our travels."

Through his booze addled brain, Weil found himself liking the idea. It was just like out of one of his stories! Two adventurers helping a good-hearted vampire try to find a cure for their affliction, in spite of the inherent danger of such an association? It was truly epic. On a practical side of things, Isabel's help would mean they could take on bigger, better paying jobs.

"Sure. Welcome aboard. G'night", Weil said with a deep yawn, tottering away.

"That's...that's it?" Isabel said to his back.

"I'll have to talk it over with Aclan in the morning but I don't see why not", Weilstadt decided with a shrug. "You'll gather this quick, my lady; I'm not very good at the whole 'foresight' thing. So I just save everyone the trouble, skip it, and move on. Can you be out in the sunlight?"

"I have to wear a hat or a hood but yes", Isabel uttered, struck dumb by Weil's nonchalance.

"Great. Common room of this inn. Eighth bell tomorrow", Weil gave her a thumbs up. "G'night."

He went inside, leaving a flabbergasted vampiress in the alley.

* * *

_It was not my wisest hour, but I suspect one could not make up an hour if they added together the total amount of time I have been wise in my life. Aclan took a bit of convincing the next day, but in the end, we had a third member to our merry little group. The journey to the lost dwarf hold came next. All three of us were needed to survive that little jaunt._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 6: A Blood Price"_


	8. All That Glitters

_Karak Barid. The Blessed Mountain, it loosely translated into Reikspiel. It was blessed, supposedly, because it was a center of runecrafting. Thrald Koroldsson was insistent that this ancient home of his ancestors held untold riches. Thrald himself was apparently an accomplished runesmith, and part of his promised payment was the enchanting of a chosen weapon for each person involved in helping him reclaim whatever parts of his lost heritage he could find in Karak Barid._

_Some things, it turns out, are lost for good reason._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 7: Silver, Gold, and Other False Gods."_

* * *

"I'll nae have a word of it!" Thrald barked, his drooping, silver beard rustling as he shook his head. "I couldnae shame my ancestors with such a thing! Defies all good sense, it does! Now begone with you!"

Thrald was slightly small for a dwarf, possessed of eternally squinting eyes and a slightly bent back from decades of being bent over his work. His rune-forged plate and axe, however, looked like they'd seen more than their fair share of use.

Weil frowned, looking over at Aclan. The elf, unimpressed with the outburst, just crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Master Thrald, I don't intend to take anything from your ancestral home. I want to help you for fair exchange, just as everyone else here does", Ac pointed to the nine adventurers gathered around the argument.

"The day I let an _elgi _set foot in Karak Barid is the day I shave my beard in sight of Grimnir's disdain!" Thrald bawled, pointing a gauntlet clad finger at Aclan. "Your kin have stacked grudges beyond counting in the _dammaz kronal _of my people."

Aclan let out a weary sigh. "Then I'll accompany you and guard our base camp outside the hold."

"Donnae get clever with me, _elgi"_, Thrald gruffed, his heavy brow knitting in a glower.

Thankfully, another dwarf came to the rescue. This one was both taller and broader in the shoulder than Thrald, his hefty beard a sort of gold-auburn color. His arms and armor were not as magnificent as the elder dwarf's, but they were still of very fine make, his axe bearing two runes along the blade.

Tegeln placed a hand on Thrald's pauldron left shoulder and advised, "uncle, additional help would be welcome. This elf has done no wrong to us."

"Bah, I'd nae expect a beardling with nary a fleck of grey in his whiskers to understand", Thrald rebuked his nephew. "_Elgi _have teachery in their blood and bone."

From Thrald's right, a female dwarf who shared the same hair color and a few facial features with Tegeln chimed in, "he's right, uncle. It's a dangerous journey, to say nothing of the hold itself. That cloak means he's a White Lion; closest thing the _elgi _have to warriors with proper _az _and _klad._" She snorted a laugh.

Weil chortled, too. It was almost a compliment.

Thrald's finger made the ponderous arc to be under the female dwarf's nose now. "You're already on thing ice, Gardta. I didnae want a woman here. It goes against Valaya's good sense. Donae make me send you home."

The dwarf siblings shared a look and then affixed their uncle with suffering stares.

"And what do you think mother will say when one of us doesn't make it back because we didn't have enough warriors?" Gardta asked.

Thrald opened his mouth but closed it just as quickly.

Tegeln took up the argument. "And father will have your beard once mother's done kicking your arse. You promised them we'd come back safely."

"I know what I said, boy!" Thrald barked. He lifted his hands in defeat, "ancestors _krutting _save me! When I was your age I respected the word of my elders…", he trailed off, grumbling angrily under his breath, "...ugh, fine. Fine! The _elgi _can come", Thrald scathed Aclan with a withering stare, "but I swear it to you, knife-ear, in the sight of the gods, that if you profane the home of my ancestors, I shall write a new grudge against your kind in my book with your own blood."

Aclan shrugged, "sounds fair to me, master dwarf."

Thrald grumbled some more and trundled off toward the mule drawn wagons of the caravan.

The group was just outside the Wolf's Den Inn. There were ten adventurers in total accompanying the dwarfs, most of whom dispersed now that the argument was over.

"Thank you", Aclan said to the dwarf siblings.

"Don't think this means I like you, _elgi_", Tegeln muttered. "My desire for success outweighs my feelings."

"So don't let us down. We're taking a chance on you", Gardta reinforced her brother. The two of them walked off as well, leaving Weilstadt, Aclan, and their newest addition standing slightly dumbfounded.

"Why must the dwarfs be so willfully obtuse?" Lady Isabel asked under her breath.

"Just their way, my lady", Weil replied, already letting it go.

Aclan shook his head, "you put me in the company of dwarfs to go to a dwarf hold, you bring a vampire along with us", Ac turned and poked Weil's chest, his finger thunking on Weil's breastplate, "by rights I should be getting your share for all this nonsense."

"You could've said 'no' to either thing, mate", Weil defended himself.

"I never said I was particularly intelligent, either", Aclan griped. He, too, went off to secure his gear in the wagons.

Weilstadt rubbed his eyes with both hands, willing the hangover to leave him in peace. It did no such thing.

"You have an interesting partnership", Isabel noted.

"Aye, it's like having a stubborn brother. Or maybe an ornery wife. He's pretty enough for the latter", Weil half-joked, too tired and frustrated to be fully with it. "Don't suppose you have any grievances to air before we depart?"

Isabel shifted her weight to one side and adjusted her wide-brimmed hat, "no, I want for little. This expedition may prove to be an unexpected boon. The dwarfs grow a wide variety of mushrooms. There could still be some growing wild down there that might help me."

"There. Hope your enthusiasm can carry all of us", Weil quipped. The payout was enticing, both in gold and in the promised weapon enchantment. Hopefully no one murdered Ac before the payout came.

Weil did a final check over his gear, doing just as much inspecting of their new comrades. The adventurers that had signed onto this expedition were already a motley bunch; the addition of a Sewer Jack, a White Lion of Chrace, and a secret vampire only served to make that more pronounced.

Most obvious among the hirelings were the bald witch and the ogre. The former, Lumina Schafer, wore white robes and carried a staff topped with a star, apparently a Wizard of the Light College. The latter was a brute calling himself Zudd Gristlefist that topped out at over ten feet in height. He had slate grey skin that was crossed with countless scars, with armor guarding his arms, lower body, and prodigious gut but leaving everything else bare.

Beyond them there were three hunters from Hochland, a Knight Errant of Bretonnia, two Tilean mercenaries, a hammer wielding woman from Ostermark, and a Nordlander that had most certainly been a pirate at some point.

In Weil's experience, they would either be able to adapt to any threat that came their way, or they'd collapse like a stack of cards at the first sign of adversity. Try as he might, this malaise wouldn't leave him. It was something that had started to hang onto him like a morning shroud of fog some days, taking the light out of even good mornings. It wasn't even a sadness. Weil was just...tired.

"Lookin' a little glum, there, Weil", the Nordlander said, walking up and puffing on a pipe and resting a hand on his cutlass. Hektor was his name. Weil and Hektor had closed down the bar the previous night. Now, the square-jawed ex-pirate looked bright eyed and bushy tailed. Lucky bastard.

"Got a bad feeling", Weil replied, turning away from the wagon. "Not sure why."

"Ah, it'll be fine", Hektor brushed it off. "Go on a little mountain hike, look at some dwarf skeletons, go home, get paid."

Weil thinned his lips and said, "and if it isn't fine?"

"That's what the steel is for", Hektor chuckled, clapping Weil on the back. "Don't be a worrywort. Think of all the ale and wenches that gold will buy and cheer up!"

"I'll work on that", Weil uttered. He'd heard that before. It was a good sentiment up until your guts were hanging from an orc spear. Weil pointed, "frankly, it's him I'm worried about the most."

Hektor followed Weil's finger, looking at a young man in orange livery standing beside a brightly barded destrier. The half-plate clad knight was just old enough to grow a reddish beard. He was currently proclaiming to Maike, one of the hunters from Hochland, that he hoped there would be a dragon (or a giant, or even a manticore) for him to slay. Maike looked bored. Her older brother, Otto, was snickering, while her younger brother, Leopold, was apparently trying to kill himself on the spot through force of will alone.

"Ser Gerard d'Terre is a fine young man, I'm sure", Hektor said, coughing into his elbow.

"He's brave and stupid in equal measure, much like any other Bretonnian knight", Weil gruffed. "Gonna get us all killed searching for glory."

"I'm sensing this is coming from a deeper place than you're letting on", Hektor guessed.

"Aye, inside my skull. I've got a whale of a plowing headache", Weil complained, rubbing his temples.

"Hm. Well, it'd suggest hair of the dog that bit you", Hektor said, offering Weil a leather flask.

The Sewer Jack declined with a shake of his head, feeling himself get a little green around the gills at the thought of more spirits.

"Hah, fair does", Hektor snorted, taking a pull from the flask. "Aaah, alright. Looks like it's about time to go. Onward to glory and riches, eh?" He nudged Weil with his elbow.

"Aye" Weil said, trying to muster the enthusiasm he'd felt the night before but failing. "Hopefully."

Hektor walked off, leaving Weilstadt by himself. Letting out a long, tired breath, Weil left the wagon and walked over to where his horse, Dust, waited. He assured himself that the hangover was just putting him in a bad mood. Come midday, he'd be feeling better.

* * *

It was a lengthy journey from the eastern reaches of Middenland through the provinces of Hochland, Talabacland, and finally, Ostermark. The band of adventurers had gotten into a few dust ups along the way with bandits and a raiding party of beastmen. No one had died, but Olga, the hammer bearing woman, had been gravely wounded by the beastmen. She was originally from Ostermark anyway, so they had taken her home before moving on.

Soon afterward, the World's Edge Mountains were upon them. Contrary to the name, it was far from the edge of the world. Most of the remaining dwarf holds were still inside the World's Edge. Weil had heard one dwarfen Sewer Jack claim that for every hold the dwarfs occupied, there were three that were lost; abandoned or inhabited by greenskins, skaven, or worse. It was grim, to be sure, to think that even the doughty dwarfs could be pushed back by the tides of evil. It got Weil to thinking, much too late, what they would do if they arrived in Karak Barid to find it teeming with hostiles. Until now, Weil had assumed "lost" meant "no one had found it". Probably a foolish oversight. Oh well. If it wasn't one death, it would be another.

Throughout the journey, Weil mostly chit-chatted with Hektor along the way. He freely admitted to formerly being a pirate. He was probably ten years Weil's senior, but the way he talked, Hektor had seen enough of the world for three lifetimes. Weil was pretty sure most of the stories were tall tales. Even so, Hektor was much more fun to talk to than Aclan or Isabel. The elf and the vampiress rode in almost complete silence.

The World's Edge Mountains looked like the spine of the world to Weilstadt's eyes. The uneven peaks rose and fell in crescendos and subsidings like the brushstroke of a particularly artistic, particularly unstable colossus. The snow capped tops of the highest peaks were veiled by a thin gossamer of clouds.

Thrald led them to a little used series of switchbacks. They were partially overgrown but being dwarf built roads, they were still sturdy even after the passage of years. Zudd carried Lumina for most of the climb. It turned out the ogre was in the Light Wizard's service. Zudd didn't seem to mind, though. He was entranced by the stories Lumina told him of the beasts they might encounter for Zudd to eat during the climb. The Tilean mercs, Guido and Guiseppe, seemed to find the climb refreshing and kept making annoyingly loud sighs like they had just got done drinking the most thirst quenching beverage of all time.

However, the World's Edge was not just a bunch of smooth-sided peaks. There were deep valleys between some of the mountains, plateaus, and hidden dales. Weil had to walk Dust along much of the mountain. Thankfully it was late summer, so the mountains were not too cold. It was kind of hot, but it could have been much worse.

The party was trekking along a winding road that clung to the side of a peak that Thrald called Karak Logal; the Last Peak. Apparently, they named their holds after the mountains they were located in. Up to their right was an almost sheer wall of rock. To the left was a tumble of several hundred feet amid scrub brush and small rocks followed by a sheer drop that meant certain death. Whatever the case, they were coming around a bend upon the mountain when Otto and Gardta came into view around a rockfall ahead in the path.

"There's someone up ahead", Otto informed them as he got close. The hunter was garbed plainly against the elements, as were his siblings. His fingers nervously drummed his longbow.

"Friend or foe?" Thrald asked from his place at the fore of the main group.

"Uhm...well…", Otto blanched and hesitated.

"Out with it, manling", Thrald demanded.

"_Dawi-zharr_, uncle", Gardta said, low and grave. She wore the chainmail and leathers of a dwarf ranger and carried a quarreler; a dwarf crossbow rivalling some human guns with the punch it packed.

Thrald recoiled like he'd smelled something bad and been punched in the face at the same time.

"Are you sure, sister?" Tegeln asked while their uncle recovered.

"Sure as stone", Gardta replied. "Not a large group. Maybe six of them, five times as many _habgrobi. _Have a few prisoners with them. Being brought back to be slaves, I'm guessing. Didn't get a good look at them, though. _Dawi-zharr _probably raided a human mining camp here in the mountains."

"Uhm, pardon my being the one to ask the question", Ser Gerard piped up from the middle of the group. "But _dawi-zharr? Habgrobi? _Those of us who do not speak your tongue would appreciate a translation."

"It's called _Khazalid", _Weilstadt gruffed at the knight. "Show some respect."

Gerard's brow furrowed. He looked confused. "That was disrespectful? It was just a question."

"Enough", Thrald demanded. He spoke in a low tone with the inevitability of a building avalanche. The entire party listened. "I'm only going to say this once. What you're all about to see...if any of you, **any of you**, breathe a word of it to **anyone**, your names will be in the Book of Grudges of my clan until the bones of your grandchildren's grandchildren are naught but dust. Is that understood?"

Everyone in the caravan gave some kind of affirmation. Zudd only did after Lumina tapped the ogre on the side of the head.

"You know how people say we _dawi _cannot be corrupted by the taint of Chaos?" Thrald asked. It was rhetorical. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder as a vein bulged in his forehead, "well you're about to find out that isn't true. Follow me. They've only got us by about three to one. Honor demands we take their blood."

The three dwarfs headed off down the mountain path. No one followed immediately.

"Chaos dwarfs? _Myrmidia mio, _this isn't a gaggle of beastmen we're talking about", Guido blanched.

"And he still didn't say what a _habgrobi _is…", Guiseppe murmured. Neither Tilean looked too keen to advance.

"Hah! A new foe means a new chance at glory. I am only sad my dear Tempete can't join us", Gerard patted the snout of his horse and offered the reins to Guido. "You two gentleman can remain back. Someone needs to watch over the horses and ensure they don't run off. There. Now your honor is intact by doing a necessary service", Gerard flashed a dazzling smile as he drew his sword and took up his kite shield. "Now, if you'll excuse me, the Lady calls me to battle." The Bretonnian set off after the dwarfs.

"Don't care who they is, Zudd's gonna crush 'em!" The ogre declared as he stomped by.

"Do by so kind as to crush them far enough away that the blood shan't soil my robes", Lumina, still held in Zudd's arms, requested. Zudd guffawed at that.

The Hochlander hunters went on their way in silence.

"Ah, s'pose enough time's passed since the last scrap", Hektor said with a shrug, drawing cutlass and pistol before he, too, went to join the fight.

Weilstadt, Aclan, and Isabel watched them all march toward whatever awaited.

"We're likely doomed, I hope you both know", Isabel quipped. She took a flintlock rifle from her back.

"Preaching to the choir, my lady", Weilstadt groaned. He checked to make sure his crossbow was loaded and ready. "Whadda you say, Ac?"

The White Lion nocked an arrow upon his longbow string. "I believe killing a dwarf or two with no repercussions might do me some good", he said frankly.

"Ranald's bones, Ac…", Weil gasped as he went bug-eyed. "Let's go before I hear your opinions on humanity."

The trio of adventurers hustled to catch up with everyone else.

They all gathered among a rockfall that overlooked a scree that led to a narrow vale at its bottom. The vale appeared to have been an old dwarf road. It even had some old, life-size dwarf statues flanking either side of it that had been worn down by wind and rain. The vale curved off and out of sight about a quarter-mile away in the direction the Chaos dwarfs had come from, turning into a downhill slope that led to a wider open dale a mile distant.

Peering around the rockfall, the adventuring band saw their quarry.

Weil saw the goblins first. They were unlike any goblins he'd ever seen before. They were almost the size of a man, looking stronger than most. Most of them wore scale armor and fur-lined, metal caps with spikes on top of them. These greenskins carried curved swords and serrated axes, some also bearing shields. A few had recurve bows as well.

The goblins were being driven by six dwarfs. Even at this distance, Weil saw their corruption. All the dwarfs had tusks not unlike an orc might have. The one that was apparently in charge also had a pair of horns jutting from his forehead beneath a ridiculously tall, flat-topped helmet. True to dwarf fashion, these dwarfs had _thrund _handguns and axes, and were clad in heavy, baroque plate armor. Gardta's estimation had been accurate. There were more than thirty enemies in total. In the center of the goblins, there were also five figures in blue-tinted leathers and azure tunics that were bound together by one long rope.

"Those blue ones are the prisoners. Try not to hit them", Otto told everyone.

"Asrai…", Aclan murmured. "Beastmen probably sold them to the dwarfs."

"Eh?" Weil grunted.

Before Ac could answer, Thrald spoke up, "alright, people. We wait for these _krutting skruffal _to get closer. When I give the order, start raining hell down on them."

"No one eat any of dem spiky dwarfs", Zudd requested of the group. "Zudd wants Zudd's fill first."

"Heh, all yours, big guy", Hektor uttered, clapping the ogre on the shoulder.

The group of enemies approached. Weil, peering around a small boulder, couldn't help but notice as they got closer that they were looking haggard. The goblins were constantly glancing over their shoulders. If the Sewer Jack didn't know any better, he'd say they were running from something.

Ser Gerard whispered from the other side of Weil's rock. "Who knew such things existed?"

"Quiet", Weil hissed.

One of the dwarfs pointed and rattled something off. Before any of the adventurers could react, the dwarfs pointed their _thrundal _at the rocks where everyone was hiding and opened fire. Weil ducked back on instinct, swearing loudly. Someone among the adventurers definitely got hit. A male voice was moaning in pain.

"Hah! So much for surprise!" Gerard called out, leaping out and sliding down the scree in amid a cloud of dust and a tumble of small stones. "FOR THE LADY!"

"For the Ancestor Gods!" Tegeln bellowed, firing his _thrund _and sliding after the Bretonnian.

"For dinner!" Zudd declared, skidding down the scree on his backside, his massive club on one shoulder and Lumina still cradled with his other hand. The Wizard held out her staff, speaking an incantation. A blinding beam of light shone out toward the enemy, throwing off the aim of the goblin archers as they returned fire.

"For fuck sake…", Weilstadt swore again. He followed Zudd's example, landing on his buttocks and sliding down the loose stones of the scree. As he slid, he took aim at the enemy host some fifty yards distant and started unleashing bolts. He crossbow _clunked _with each shot, speeding quarrels on their way. The first one punched into a goblins chest. The second knocked the helmet from the head of another. The third and fourth both struck one of the dwarfs, the first skidding off his pauldron but the second breaching his shoulder armor.

Several of the goblins were felled in the opening volley. The shouts of their dwarfen masters pushed them to charge at the adventurers. Weilstadt fired three more bolts as he hit the road running, felling another goblin and wounding another. He saved one bolt. Reloading was too involved and gods knew he might need it.

The lead Chaos dwarf lifted his hands and fell magic coalesced around them. Quite sure dwarfs weren't supposed to be able to use magic, Weil was baffled. His bafflement turned to panic as a cloud of ash spawned from some unknown place beneath their feet and engulfed the forest path. It was almost choking, and Weil could smell the hot tang of heated metal among the ash. Coughing but undeterred, Weilstadt plunged ahead, his swords in hand.

"Rally to me!" Lumina cried over the cackling and snarling of the encroaching goblins. Her staff lit up, creating a beacon in the ash cloud ahead of Weil. She was walking by herself now, Zudd standing protectively before her. Weil linked up with those two, as well as Gerard and Tegeln. The Sewer Jack peered into the ash, trying to see the enemy.

A shape emerged, drawn to the light. A curved sword rang off of Gerard's shield. The knight shoved as the blade impacted, knocking the goblin back. In an impressive move, Gerard cut off the goblin's head with one swipe, spun backward to avoid the sword of a second goblin and stabbed even as he made that motion, making the second goblin run directly onto the point of his sword.

"_Pour la Dame!"_ Ser Gerard declared.

While this was happening, another goblin emerged, putting an arrow in Zudd's chest. The ogre grunted, then chuckled as his club arced in and crushed the goblin flat against the ground. Tegeln hacked out with his axe, taking a goblin's arm at the shoulder. Isabel, unseen by most of the group, grabbed the sword of a goblin with her bare hand. The edge didn't cut her. The goblin had just enough time to look confused as the vampiress broke the sword in half and stabbed the top half of the blade into its eye. Weil himself did one of his favored moves, parrying a goblin's club with his gladius and slashing out with his spatha, cutting the greenskin's throat.

As the rest of the group caught up, though, the attack seemed to stop.

"Be ready", Tegeln advised as he quickly started reloading his _thrund_. "_Dawi-zharr _scheme like _elgi _on the best of days."

"Isha's grace, I feel so welcome…", Weil heard Aclan say.

Lumina spoke up, "I feel the Winds stirring. We mu-_ABOVE!_"

Everyone looked up to see balls of molten metal form in the air and fall like deathly meteors upon them. A barrier of light formed above them, stopped the projectiles.

"I...cannot hold them...long…", Lumina gasped, collapsing to one knee, her staff's light intense like a falling star. "Move!"

So, this was the Chaos dwarfs' plan.

"On the attack, comrades! with me! _Viva la Bretonnia!" _Gerard led with his shield and charged into the ash cloud.

Knowing they had no other choice, the rest of Thrald's party did as the Knight Errant had done. All cohesion was quickly lost. Weilstadt hacked into the first goblin he saw, scattering rusting scalemail beneath the cut of his spatha. He kicked that goblin away, dodging the swipe of another and spitting it upon his gladius as it tried to run past.

After a few steps, like exiting a room, Weilstadt left the ash cloud. Coughing up more of the dust, he looked around, only to see a Chaos dwarf off to his left, a scant ten feet away.

Smiling around his tusks, the dwarf guffawed, aiming his _thrund _and saying, "going to need more than those butter knives to get through my _klad_, _umgi._"

A shape emerged from the ash. The lead blue-clad figure, their hands still bound, plowed into the Chaos dwarf. The dwarf grunted, dropping his gun. Weilstadt sheathed his swords and pulled his crossbow form his back as he knelt, spitting the last bolt into the dwarf's chest. The bolt breached the thick armor and the dwarf spat up blood as he folded.

The blue-clad figure looked at Weil with eyes of solid black. That alone was spooky enough. However, now wasn't the time for thinking too hard. They had just saved his life, most likely.

Weil hurried over to the blue figure. He cut the binding on their hands with one of his swords. Inwardly he cursed, but he knew it was only right as he offered his gladius to this person.

"Free your friends, keep the sword. Should be some other weapons lying around here, too", Weilstadt rattled off. He looked about and saw that most of the conflict was still within the ash cloud, though the mountain winds were starting to dissipate it.

"What's your name?" The black-eyed prisoner asked with a woman's voice.

"Weilstadt", the Sewer Jack answered as he picked up the dying Chaos dwarf's _thrund. _"This one's mine. Right. Ranald's luck go with you", Weil offered her an encouraging smile and a thumbs up before going once more into the fray.

He saw another Chaos dwarf, this one at the back of the group like a conductor. It was the same one that had done the little song and dance before summoning the ash cloud. Weil aimed at him with the rifle and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the dwarfen sorcerer in the chin, scattering blood, beard hair, and...chips of stone? The sorcerer stumbled from the shot and Weilstadt ran up on him, drawing one of his daggers to take the place of his gladius. The dwarf growled like an animal as Weilstadt's paired blades reaved in on him. With a two-handed hammer, the Chaos dwarf blocked every attack, letting some of them fall on his armor to no effect. Gritting his teeth, Weilstadt tried to come up with a strategy to kill this dwarf.

A familiar axe emerged from the corner of Weil's vision. Aclan had arrived, and his great axe split the sorcerer's armored gorget, biting into his neck, leaving an opening for Weil to put a dagger between the dwarf's eyes.

The battle petered out soon after this. The ash cleared, revealing a field of dead goblins. A few of the greenskins were clambering up the scree, but arrows and rifle shots finished them off.

Zudd was crying. He was knelt over Lumina's body. The Wizard's corpse was twisted by foul mutation, feathers sprouting along her cheeks, a third eye still madly twitching upon her left temple. The still smoking balls of cooled metal surrounded her. Lumina had slit her own wrists rather than live as a mutant. Further back, at the base of the scree, Maike was calling up to her brother, Leopold, but the hunter wasn't responding. Guido and Guiseppe came into view shortly thereafter, relaying the news that Leopold was badly hurt.

"Hah! Another victory for Ser Gerard d'Terre!" The Knight Errant cried, thumping his chest. "'Twas only a pity no bards were here t-..."

"Hey!" Weilstadt snapped at the lad. "Shut your mouth, you dumbarse. This ain't a sodding stage play!"

"What are you…?" Gerard began, wheeling about. His angry expression at Weilstadt faded as he saw what Zudd was crying about. "Oh...forgive me...I did not see."

"Obviously", Weil grunted.

"Easy, Volker", Ac advised him as he wiped the blade of his axe clean.

"No plowing respect, Bretonnians…", Weil complained under his breath.

Most of the adventurers had emerged from the battle with only minor injuries.

"Master Thrald, probably a good idea for us to make camp nearby for the night", Hektor said to the runesmith, nursing a laceration in his side. "Best let the wounded rest."

Thrald nodded ponderously, like a boulder tipping over a ledge. "Aye. We'll burn the enemy and make a cairn for the good Wizard", his eyes tracked up the scree. "Road should widen out to a cliff not far from here. Hopefully we'll only be needing the one cairn."

* * *

Lumina and Leopold were under cairns facing out from a cliff that commanded a view of a deep valley with a clear river running beneath it. The young hunter would have needed Lumina's healing magics to survive the bullet he'd received in the stomach.

The rest of the party made camp further up the road on the same cliff. Zudd sulked away from everyone, which was probably for the best as his dinner was the corpses of several of the goblins. Or "hobgoblins", rather, as Tegeln had called them. Otto and Maike both stared silently into the campfire they had made. That's what most people were doing. Unlike most of the previous nights, there was little conversation.

"Soup's on", Gardta told everyone, clanking the ladle against the cookpot and sitting down with a steaming bowl.

"Thanks, lass", Weil murmured. He got up, ladling himself a helping of stew. It smelled different than usual. "What'd you put in this?"

"Garlic", Gardta replied. "Figured a little flavor might do tonight."

Isabel, who was next behind Weilstadt, paused in grabbing the ladle and pursed her lips.

"Not fond of garlic, _my lady_?" Gardta asked in a snippish voice, asking for an argument over her cooking.

"N-no, it's not that. I simply have an allergy to it. Forgive me", Isabel said softly. "My appetite isn't great after today's fight, anyway."

"Mm. Fair", Gardta said, mollified.

One by one, everyone got their food and started eating.

"Ac, what'd you mean by 'asrai?'" Weil asked his partner.

"Oh. Those prisoners were wood elves. Asrai, much like I am asur and Tharlas was druchii." Aclan explained.

"You mean we risked our necks to save a bunch of _elgi?" _Tegeln gruffed.

"It was your uncle that prompted us into that fight; a fight our brother didn't survive", Maike immediately retorted. "Mind yourself, dwarf."

Tegeln inhaled to snap back, but Gardta cuffed him on the back of the head and chastised her brother, "she's right, stone brain. Stop putting your beard in your mouth. Besides, it wasn't for the _elgi. _It was to avenge the grudge the _dawi-zharr _wrote when they turned away from the Ancestor Gods", she looked at Maike, "I shall personally record Leopold's name in the chronicles of our clan for his sacrifice. Lumina's as well."

"Your sister's right. Have some respect and stop acting like a beardling. Their deaths are on my head", Thrald rumbled.

Tegeln grumbled something approaching an apology.

"My heart grieves for your brother, Fraulein Maike", Gerard said, placing a gloved hand to his chest. "I swear upon my honor that I shall avenge him upon anymore of these fell servants of the Ruinous Powers that we find."

The knight's oath grated against Weil. He admonished Ser Gerard, "he wouldn't've gotten shot if you'd've just shut your mouth and stayed in cover."

Gerard's half-empty bowl and spoon clattered to the ground. Frustration filled his face as he got to his feet. "Herr Weilstadt, I have done my very best to endure your baseless scorn, hoping dedication to our cause and calm humors might persuade you, but a man can only take so much. I have done nothing to you and now that you place this death on my head. I must demand your apology."

"Demand all you want, Ser Bastard", Weilstadt snapped, standing up as well.

"Bastard…?!" Gerard repeated, immediately going for his sword.

Hektor reached over and kept the lad from drawing his steel. "Hey, now, howsabout we all just settle down…"

"Volker!" Aclan growled, grabbing Weil by the front of his armor. "Enough of that. He's right. You are being an ass. Now apologize before I have to smack one out of you."

It was easy to dismiss when coming from the object of his hatred, but when it was his partner and friend, Weilstadt finally realized he'd gone too far. Everyone at the campfire was looking at either Ser Gerard or Weil, and the Sewer Jack knew that it wasn't the Knight Errant that was in the wrong here. He rumbled deep in his throat, willing himself to just sink into the ground beneath his feet so he could be away from this situation.

Finally, with a slow breath through his nostrils, Weilstat uttered, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." His face burned with shame and embarrassment.

Gerard's fingers let go of his sword one by one, Hektor taking his own hand away as well.

"Yes, well...tensions are high for everyone", Gerard said, clearing his throat and brushing a few bits of stew from his soiled tabard. "I accept your apology."

"Gonna go get some air", Weilstadt said, stepping over his campstool and wandering off. The edge of the cliff was a good fifty or so feet away. Perhaps against good judgement, Weil sat on the edge with his feet dangling over the sheer drop of several hundred feet to the banks of the mountain river and the sparse pine trees that grew on either side of it. On a better night, he'd appreciate the serene beauty of it all. Either way, it was good to remember that, for all the horror in the world, there were still good things to be found.

Weilstadt shook his head, picking up a pebble from the ground beside him and flicking it out to fall to the river below. He felt like the fool in one of the Ranald's hidden scriptures, the invariably self-righteous man that is too blind to do anything but lose in the end.

Someone's feet crunched against the dirt behind him. The footsteps were too light to be Aclan.

Isabel sat down a couple feet to Weil's right, mimicking his precarious choice of positioning.

"Come to give me a lecture?" Weilstadt asked as his picked up another pebble and tossed it.

"No. Not unless you give me a reason to", Isabel replied. She kicked her feet a little, letting them swing in the mountain air. "I would like you to explain why you have such a problem with that lad. He was right when he said he's done nothing to you."

Weilstadt said. "I don't like most nobles and I don't like Bretonnians. I've met a few of the former and none of the latter that I've liked."

"That isn't it", Isabel countered with a shake of her head. "I agree with you on your dislike of both of those things but Ser Gerard has been polite, courteous...I'll say it, properly chivalrous to everyone, if a harmless braggart. No, this goes deeper than that."

"And you won't leave me be until I talk about it?"

"Nonsense. I don't know you well enough to do things like that, Herr Weilstadt. That being said, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea if you did talk about it."

Weil nodded a little. The wind whistled as it raced over rock faces and made the trees dance below.

"Do you know what a Herrimault is?" He asked at length.

Perplexed, Isabel said. "the...Bretonnian robbers in hoods that steal from nobles?"

"Aye. Steal from the rich and give to the poor", Weil confirmed. "When I was young, my favorite stories were the ones about Herrimaults. I wanted to be one more than anything. So I did. When I was thirteen, some friends of mine and I made a pact to be the first Imperial Herrimaults."

"I don't follow…", Isabel admitted.

Weil held up a finger, continuing, "thing is, there's no real organized crime in Bretonnia. Not like the Empire. That's why Herrimaults can work like they do. In Altdorf, a gang of stupid kids was never going to survive for very long. That is, of course, unless a mentor picked us up", the Sewer Jack idly scratched at a tattoo on his neck; a rat skull impaled on a spear. "Von Strand. Leader of the Black Rat gang. Hearing a grown up outlaw tell us that he believed in our cause and wanted to help us was all the validation we needed. We started small. Cutting purses, picking pockets, the usual. We'd give our money to Von Strand. He promised us he was distributing funds to the poor", Weilstadt snorted contemptuously at this last point. It was so obvious in retrospect.

He went on, "anyhow, point is, cutting purses and picking pockets became extortion, breaking and entering. That became just beating people and robbing them. All bad people, of course. Von Strand _never _sent us after good people", the sarcasm was thicker than the sorcerous ash cloud had been. "I killed my first man when I was seventeen. Dieter Heichs. He was a lonely, middle-aged man that ran a printing shop. My friends and I picked his house clean. Von Strand didn't even need to tell us why he was worthy of that fate. Just that we had to trust our leader's judgement."

"I am guessing this did not end well for your friends", Isabel whispered.

"A rival gang sold us out to the City Watch. State Troops kicked in the front door of our hideout and slaughtered everyone inside, including Von Strand", Weilstadt let out a long, weary sigh. "Only reason I survived was because I was in the back alley taking a leak when the attack happened. I hid 'til the Emperor's boys left and looked for survivors but there weren't any. They'd all been executed on the spot, left to rot until Morr's people came for the bodies", his shoulders slumped, "that's when I knew. Couldn't be blind to it anymore and pretend my friends died to some corrupt noble's soldiers. They died because they were criminals and murderers, and I should've died right with them", he sent another pebble on the long trip to the river, "knew my only chance was to join the Sewer Watch and disappear. No one gives a damn about Sewer Jacks. The rest is history, as they say."

Isabel gave a slight nod and said, "while I appreciate that you would open up like that, Herr Weilstadt, I still struggle to see what this has to do with Ser Gerard."

"My favorite stories were about Herrimaults", Weil explained again. "Now my favorite stories are about knights."

It clicked with the vampiress. "You think he's putting on an act like a 'perfect' knight from a story. You don't believe Ser Gerard is actually sincere in his good nature."

"And I'm tired of him pretending otherwise." Weil muttered. "There's a reason the shite in the storybooks is the way it is. It's fiction. It's fantasy. That whelp was born into a nobility that exists to oppress those beneath them. He was handed everything yet has the gall to act like he's plowing Gilles le Breton reborn. Everyone else may be happy to accept him at face value but I'm not going to let him off the hook that easily."

Isabel frowned deeply. She crossed her arms and said, "so because you've done horrible things that you regret, the only conclusion you can draw is that everyone's conscience must be as stained as yours."

"That's not what I…"

"Did you not leave your criminal past behind? Do you not try to help people, in spite of the environment you came from? I have watched you, Herr Weilstadt. I never would have guessed you to be a murderer or a thief", Isabel's eyes flicked up and down, inspecting Weil, "perhaps a man with poor taste in tattoos, at worst."

"Hey, now…", the Sewer Jack said, one side of his mouth going up in an involuntary grin.

"You took a chance on me, a vampire. Earlier today, you gave one of your prized swords to a stranger to help them survive", Isabel reminded him. "You owe Ser Gerard that same chance. Perhaps he has left behind the stigma of his fellow Bretonnian nobles. You dishonor yourself with this behavior."

It was a bitter draught to swallow, but it made sense. Looking back, Weil realized he'd been going out of his way to look for reasons to get pissed off at the young knight. How many of them had been leaning out to look at the hobgoblins and Chaos dwarfs? Any of them could have been the one the enemy had seen.

"Just think about it." Isabel suggested. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go pretend to eat bread so no one gets suspicious."

"Fair enough", Weil said. "Thank you, though, my lady. I probably needed someone to come over here and make me think about that."

"Yes, you certainly did. But, at the least, I'm glad you've not closed your mind off to criticism", Isabel said in conclusion. She headed back over to the campfire.

Weilstadt sat by himself for a little bit longer. He had absolutely been in the wrong. That stung his pride deeply. The object of his ire had been the victim, the Sewer Jack had been little better than a bully, when it came down to it. Well, if nothing else, this wounded pride was better than continuing on in willful ignorance to his behavior.

Once he was sure everyone had cooled down, Weilstadt returned to the campfire to finish his dinner.

* * *

The horses had been left in the care of a small dwarfen mining settlement just a day's travel away in the peaks. When asked why they hadn't touched Karak Barid, the answers were all over the board. Some dwarfs said it was a cursed place. Others simply didn't want to go loot another clan's hold without their permission. The leader of the town, a Thane named Fordreng Fordrengsson, was of the latter camp. When Thrald showed Fordreng documentation that the runesmith was properly descended from the dwarfs of Karak Barid, Fordreng offered the help of his people to recover any treasures once it was deemed safe. He could not spare any warriors with the Chaos dwarfs and their hobgoblins about.

The entrance to Karak Barid actually kind of reminded Weilstadt of the gatehouse of most city walls, just two or three times larger. It was shaped the same but built into the side of a mountain. A wide road led up to it. The stone of the gate was worked with giant Khazalid runes, as well as carvings of stylized, bearded faces.

There likely would have been more excitement if not for all the corpses.

There were at least three times as many dead hobgoblins and Chaos dwarfs on the road leading up to the open gates of Karak Barid as the group had encountered two days before. They were in a much worse state, too, scattered all over the avenue. Their bodies were rent apart, their armor was slagged around them. It looked like a massacre. Everyone spread out, looking for clues among the dead. Zudd didn't look for clues. Instead, he began noisily eating arms and legs from the fallen.

"This...doesn't make me as happy as it probably should to see it", Hektor spoke the foremost word as they surveyed the carnage.

"Nay...I didnae expect this by a long shot", Thrald said. He toed at a dead hobgoblin with his sabaton.

Weilstadt knelt down in front of a dead Chaos dwarf. Like some of the others, his armor had been melted. What skin Weil could see was charred almost down to the blackened bone.

"What could have done this?" Guido asked.

"My bet's on skaven", Weilstadt raised his voice to be heard by everyone. He pointed to the dwarf in front of him, "Warpfire's the only thing I've seen do something like this."

"Skaven? What's a skaven?" Maike asked, looking to Otto, who just shrugged.

While Guido and Guiseppe explained the ratmen to the Hochlanders, Tegeln said to Weil, "you're not wrong. It was _dawi-zharr_ that drove our Clan from Karak Barid, but the _thaggoraki_ could have tunneled from beneath them. Shouldn't there be _raki _bodies, too, though?"

"The _thaggoraki _arenae stupid. Just cowards. They'll hide their dead so others donae expect them", Thrald reasoned. He hawked and spat upon the corpse of the dead Chaos dwarf with the largest helmet. "Changes nothing. We'll find out what it is when we get in there."

"Uncle, don't you think we should…", Gardta started to say.

Thrald immediately cut her off, "should what? Look for help? Go back to Karak Kadrin and tell all the fools that laughed at me that we need their bloody aid? Eh?! Nay, I swore an oath before the graves of my ancestors that I would recover the rune lore of our Clan or give my life in the trying of it. I'll nay be leaving. I donae care if ALL OF YOU decide to turn coward and run away", he jabbed a hand toward the looming gates of Karak Barid, "I'll be going in there with or without you."

"We're with you, uncle", Tegeln assured Thrald, though he did cast a sympathetic look toward his sister. "Still, you can't blame Gardta for being worried at the sight of this."

"Bah! So some _habgrobi _and _dawi-zharr _got themselves killed. You two should be singing praises to the gods about it, not whining like bloody _elgi_", Thrald harumphed, immediately setting out for the yawning gate of Karak Barid, muttering something about "back in my day" under his breath.

"I feel I have whined the least of everyone during this journey", Aclan commented.

"I'm not particularly worried about claiming that title so I shall allow you to have it", Isabel said to him.

"I have a bad plowing feeling about this", Weilstadt said. "C'mon, let's keep the old dwarf from getting himself killed."

They advanced on the open gate. Weilstadt managed to catch up to Ser Gerard.

"'Scuse me, Ser Knight, you have a second?" Weil asked.

"I have many, I hope", Ser Gerard replied, though his joking tone was guarded as if he expected more insults.

"Look, I know I already apologized once, but I just wanted to say it properly before we get in there and end up confronting Ranald knows what", Weil cut to the chase, "you didn't deserve all the shite I was heaping on you. I was being a right bastard. Don't expect you to just up and forgive me but figured I should tell you that. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you, name it."

Gerard smiled, "a good knight would ask nothing of this, Herr Weilstadt. I am grateful for your apology. We have fought and shed blood together, and likely have yet to do so again. Have my back and I shall have yours. That is all I can ask. Agreed?" The Knight Errant offered a hand.

Weil took the hand in a firm grip and shook it, feeling better already. "Agreed."

"Let me know when the wedding is, you two", Hektor said from behind them.

Most of the humans in the party laughed, save for the Hochlander siblings. Zudd did, too, as he picked his teeth with a hobgoblin femur.

After a month of travelling, they were finally passing through the gates of Karak Barid. It was Weil's first time in the dwarf hold. Hopefully it wouldn't be the last.

There were more dead Chaos dwarfs and hobgoblins inside the hold, though the further they went, the greater the ratio of hobgoblins to Chaos dwarfs was. What that meant, Weil could not guess. Their corpses littered the long, downard road that led in from the gate. The stench of death and decay was absolutely cloying in side the tunnel and got worse the further down they went.

The entry road was flanked on either side by dusty, cracked mosaics that were thirty feet tall. The ancient art depicted dwarfs putting orcs and elves to rout or striking at vast veins of gold. If this was a center of runecrafting as Thrald had suggested, Weil was surprised to see there were no images of runesmiths. Though, dwarfs were a secretive lot when it came to their runes. Maybe they didn't want even a hint of how runecrafting worked to be put up on display.

The entry road led to a massive, domed cavern that Weil guessed to be some kind of town square. There were more dead bodies in here, but they were fewer and far between. A few hobgoblin bodies were bloated and rotting in a still trickling fountain in the plaza's center. Long, blackened lines of warped stone were traced across the ground and the sagging fronts of musty dwarf buildings that were built directly into the walls of the cavern. Everything was lit by giant mirrors that reflected light down through shafts cut into the mountain above.

"Never seen Warpfire do that", Weilstadt noted. Those buildings likely would have stood for ages longer if not for the intense heat that had twisted their structure.

"Anyone else smell sulfur?" Hektor asked the group.

"I'm surprised you can smell anything other than rotting greenskins", Isabel said, covering her nose. Considering vampires had incredibly keen smell, she probably wasn't particularly happy with their surroundings right now.

"Where to now, uncle?" Tegeln asked of Thrald.

The old dwarf was inspecting the golden statue in the center of the fountain. It depicted a dwarf standing before an anvil with a hammer raised up, an unshaped ingot waiting to be struck on the anvil.

"When the hold was abandoned, my father placed Runes of Concealment on our hoard vault." Thrald explained. "He didnae have time to retrieve the tome of our rune lore from within, only escaping with our workshop notes. That's where it will be. The treasure I'll be rewarding you with is there, too. I'll go into more detail about your shares when we get there, but no one touch anything until I say you can." Thrald was surprisingly calm about these last instructions. Perhaps their proximity to their goal was weighing on Thrald. Weil knew dwarfs were a long lived race. This was something Thrald had likely been contemplating for decades, if not centuries.

At least a score of smaller tunnels branched off from the main one, each of these meticulously. Some were only wide enough for two people, but the one Thrald led them to was large enough for wagons to pass each other with a little room to spare, though Zudd had to duck a little bit. The hobgoblins abruptly cut off as they entered this tunnel and followed the long, gentle curve of it down into the heart of the mountain. When they eventually reached the bottom the tunnel straightened and levelled out. There were fewer of the mirrors for light down here, but Weilstadt saw the unmistakable green crystals that the skaven often used to light their tunnels. The lack of skaven bodies anywhere still disturbed the Sewer Jack. The ratmen were terrifying foes, but he would take a known evil over the alternative.

This path branched off in smaller ones in a few places, but opened up into a larger chamber at the end. There was a heap of corpses and a thick trail of them leading away from the opening. When he saw this, Thrald stopped in his tracks.

"What is it, uncle?" Tegeln asked.

Thrald pointed a gauntleted, shaking hand, "that's...the vault. My father...he said he'd made it look like a blank wall to anyone but a _dawi_. It should look like a pair of stone and steel doors to us."

No one in the group liked that.

"We move forward. Stay on guard. Stay quiet. I donae like this", Thrald said.

The party went on. They picked their way through the corpses. Some of them were fused together. The ill feeling Weilstadt had in his gut continued to grow as they emerged into the treasure chamber.

Weilstadt estimated that the hoard vault was one-hundred feet across, perhaps half that tall. A truly mind-boggling amount of gold coins and ingots, jewels, and other relics were piled in a short depression in the room's center. The pile was at least twice as tall as Weilstadt, probably sixty to seventy feet from one side to the other. A giant, ten-sided mirror in the ceiling illuminated the space. The treasure glittered in the light, twinkling in the eyes if one changed their angle on it even slightly.

Ten thick columns held up the ceiling, each one marked repeatedly on its inner face with a single rune. Weil recognized one of the runes as one that Thrald, Tegeln, and Gardta all had on their armor at least once. A family rune, then? So maybe ten families had made up the Clan that had lived here? Weil had learned from a dwarfen Sewer Jack that dwarf families were quite large and extended, sometimes several branches all living nearby.

On the walls of the room, there were smaller doors that were something like a cross between a cabinet and a safe. These, too, were each marked with small runes on their lower right corners. Only a few had been broken open, most were still closed. In this room, Weil acutely felt the weight of the mountain above him. It felt like the very air around him was shifting and compressing beneath it.

"Ah, the _thaggoraki _didn't get to most of the safes. Good", Thrald said, mostly to himself. "I'll just be a moment."

Thrald hurried to start looking at the safes with Gardta on his heels. Most everyone else was still staring in awe at the mound of gold. Weilstadt could scarcely believe this much wealth could exist, let alone be in one place. Immediately, he started imagining all the different ways he might sneak a few extra coins out. The thought that the dwarfs would literally kill him for doing that buried that idea, let alone that it would be an incredibly dishonest thing to do.

"Could buy my own bloody ship with all this...hah, Manann's beard, I could buy three and keep a fourth one to spare!" Hektor laughed.

"You'll both start catching flies if you leaves your mouths agape like that", Isabel murmured, looking on with mild confusion as the Tilean mercs kept picking up coins from the edge of the pile and letting them slide through their fingers like water or sand.

"Thank you for being so worried about my mouth, my lady", Weil replied to her.

"...what?" The vampiress bawked.

"Zudd eat for whole month with this!" Zudd guffawed excitedly, his grief over Lumina completely forgotten.

Tegeln, who was keeping watch over all the other party members, chortled, "you'll all get your fair share, don't you worry. Still...looking at those doors, looks like whoever got in here did so melted through from the outside. Not many things could see through Runes of Concealment and also have the resources to sear open five feet of solid rock and metal."

That gave Weil pause. Everyone was so transfixed on the treasure they had forgotten the all important issue that had been hanging over them.

"What do you think it was?" Weil asked Tegeln.

"Heh, I don't know." The dwarf laughed some more, tapping a twin-handled golden cup with his boot, "bet it was my great aunt Serynn. Valaya's mercy, I'll tell you what…" As Tegeln spoke, the cup he'd nudged tumbled away, causing a little cascade of coins to follow it and revealing an obsidian relic beneath.

As the coins fell, Weil realized several things at once. First, the coins twinkled because they were, ever so slowly, moving. The air felt strange and shifting not because of some trick of the mind, but because something big was breathing underneath it. Finally, the coins did not reveal an obsidian relic, but black scales.

"Uhm...Tegeln…", Weil said slowly, fearfully aiming his crossbow.

"...that was _before _she got divorced an-...eh? What?" Tegeln replied.

Weil said nothing but pointed down toward the opening that showed the scales. The dwarf tilted his head in confusion, then followed Weil's finger. Tegeln crouched and took a closer look.

Some of the black scales slide back. A crimson, melon-sized eye glared at Tegeln, its round pupil slowly narrowing into a slit.

"Unc-cle Th-thrald…", Tegeln stammered.

"Not now, Tegeln, I've almost remembered the combination", Thrald scolded.

Tegeln shouted a word but it was drowned out by the tumbling cascade of treasure as the creature beneath the hoard lifted itself up. It's black scales truly looked like they were crafted from obsidian. As its full from emerged from the pile of treasure, the creature revealed itself to be thirty feet long from nose to tail. The beast had countless wounds across its body; swords, axes, and arrows were still embedded in it, no doubt the work of the Chaos dwarfs and their hobgoblin slaves. Its right eye was a ruin of dried blood, apparently a victim of a gunshot.

Weilstadt hadn't needed to hear the word Tegeln had said. He knew it now. He knew what had driven out the skaven, what the Chaos dwarfs had awoken in their search for treasure.

Dragon.

The dragon lunged. Tegeln never stood a chance as dragon bit down on the upper half of his body, shaking the dwarf like a dog worrying at a piece of meat. Tegeln screamed as his armor buckled and finally broke. The dwarf's lower half soared and struck the wall as the dragon swallow the upper half and let out a deafening roar.

Weilstadt scrambled for the cover of one of the columns holding up the ceiling. Everyone else scattered in one direction or the other. Guido and Giuseppe opted to flee straight back through the path the group had come in from. The dragon inhaled and, after a moment, belched a bright, sulfurous, stinking stream of pure heat. The two Tileans had only a moment to cry out before the dragon's breath killed them, leaving behind two blackened sets of bones draped in melted steel.

"Son of a bitch", Weil cursed, holding his crossbow close. A dragon. A bloody dragon, hiding under a hoard of gold. He'd always wished he could be in the stories when he was younger. That sentiment had, no pun intended, lost its luster in the current situation.

The dragon growled from its place in the middle of the room. Treasure shifted beneath it as it moved.

"Teg! No!" Gardta cried across the room.

The dragon rumbled and turned, its heat breath spewing over the column that Gardta and Thrald were hiding behind. Weilstadt popped out from his cover and fired off a trio of bolts in rapid succession. The first simply skipped off the dragon's scales. The second two found purchase, but given the beast's size, they had to only be superficial wounds.

Aclan fired his bow. Isabel's handgun coughed alongside Hektor's pistol. Otto and Maike also loosed arrows upon the drake. All these seemed to do was anger the already furious beast. The dragon whipped its head around the room, unleashing another blast of heat. As the beam passed over both sides of Weil's cover, he felt himself immediately start to sweat. He coughed as he breathed in the hot air.

"YOU MAKE GOOD DINNER FOR ZUDD!" The ogre called out over the fight as the dragon's head passed his cover. Zudd charged out and struck the dragon with the full force of his club, the impact sending a ripple through the dragon's body, sending broken scales flying. The dragon screeched. Its spiked tail lashed. The effects on Zudd's head and torso were something Weil did not want to commit to memory.

_We're doomed. We can't escape, we can't kill it. We're dead._ Weil thought to himself.

Weilstadt had fled to the right of the entrance. He looked over to the next pillar and saw Ser Gerard there, muttering what appeared to be a prayer.

"The hell are you planning?!" Weil gasped.

Gerard smiled and said, "something rather foolish. It only has one eye. Wound the other and the others might escape. Are you with me, Herr Weilstadt?"

A low, throaty rattle shuddered through the vault as the dragon looked around for prey. Weilstadt had told Lady Karolina that if his life was the price that had to be paid to save someone else's, he'd pay it gladly. Now was the time to prove it.

"Aye. I'm with you." The Sewer Jack confirmed, willing his knees to stop shaking.

Neither of them could do what they planned.

"_Skazi drak! _Face a true son of Grungi!" Thrald's bellowing voice drowned out even the dragon as the dwarf emerged from behind his pillar almost directly across from Weilstadt, pointing his axe threateningly. "I declare grudgement on you, vile magma wyrm! Now answer it!"

The dragon was happy to oblige. It unleashed its searing breath upon the runesmith. The runes on the old dwarf's shield and armor flared even more brightly than the beam of heat. The seething stream appeared to flow around Thrald, though Weil could see the dwarf's beard start to singe and burn in places. Thrald snarled against the heat but he did not falter.

Weil and Gerard made their move. They rushed out, treading over the pile of treasure as the dragon focused on Thrald.

The dragon's tail snapped. It was not the grand windup that had slain Zudd, and that was the only thing that spared Gerard's life as the Knight Errant got his shield in between himself and the tail. Gerard was knocked into Weilstadt. The two of them went spinning through the air a short distance before coming down against the wall on the opposite side of the entry hole that they had started from.

Dazed after the impact, Weilstadt was only dimly aware of the dragon turning away from Thrald to face him and Gerard. A pair of hands grabbed Weil under the arms and hauled him back. Lady Isabel pulled Weilstadt to her so she was between the Sewer Jack and the pillar as another blast of heat turned the air into a furnace. Just across the way, Aclan had a hold of Ser Gerard.

"I had no idea you felt this way about me, my lady", Weil blathered, half-mad from adrenaline, fear, and heat. He saw blisters on the back of his hands.

"Are you seriously attempting to flirt with me right now?!" Isabel snapped.

"Doubt I'll get another chance", Weil snorted, clinging to the gallows humor to remain grounded in this hopeless situation. He peeked out, seeing Thrald was not dead, but the dragon's breath had dropped him to his knees. The runesmith was getting back to his feet as Gardta and the Hochland hunters shot into the dragon's sides again. The dragon wheeled upon the hunters and swung one of its clawed forelimbs. The pillar was smashed, crushing the hunters under a pile of masonry. Up above, the collapsing pillar made the mirrored chandelier rattle and move, casting the room in shifting light.

Weil had an idea as Thrald attacked. The old dwarf took a few ponderous steps as the dragon finished boiling Otto and Maike. His rune-forged axe bit deeply into the dragon's chest, prompting a stream of wine red, steaming blood. The dragon once more unleashed its deafening roar as it brought a clawed hand down upon Thrald and crushed battered dwarf against the floor.

"'Remember me, o' Countess Tremaire, my dear lady most fair'", Weil rasped out the closing lines of one of the chapters of _The Rising of Sir Marcellus_, placing a hand against Isabel's cold cheek. Speaking those silly lines in this situation buoyed Weil's spirit as he felt himself channeling the essence of his favorite literary hero. So what if it was fiction? The inspiration had to come from somewhere, didn't it?

"What?!" The vampiress exclaimed, her eyes shifting to look at Weil's hand.

"Cover me!" Weilstadt cried before reason could take hold of him, emerging from behind the pillar. He threw his crossbow behind his back, rolling under the dragon's lashing tail as he picked up Tegeln's axe.

"_Pour la Parravon!" _Ser Gerard said, emerging to once again attack the dragon. Aclan followed after him, hefting his axe. Hektor's pistol snapped off.

Weilstadt hit the edge of the room and ran along the wall as his comrades harried the dragon from all sides. The Sewer Jack sprinted for the chain attached to the wall that was directly across from the entrance. He hefted Tegeln's runic axe and chopped at the chain. Sparks rang off of it. Weil saw a nick in the iron of the chain. The Sewer Jack heaved and chopped a second, a third, a fourth time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone flying across the room.

The dragon turned on Weilstadt, inhaling. Weil looked up in horror as he saw the shimmering heat gathering inside the dragon's mouth. The Sewer Jack knew he had failed and waited for the end…

The magma drake emitted a new sound, one of extreme distress and pain. Ser Gerard was hanging from his sword that was embedded in the dragon's flank. He had stabbed the creature in the spot where Zudd's club and smashed away some of the scales.

"Now, Herr Weilstadt!" The Knight Errant yelled.

Short of breath in the rapidly heating room, Weil lifted his aching limbs and hacked downward with Tegeln's axe one last time. With a ringing snap, half the link in the chain that Weil had been striking broke. The weight of the chain and, more importantly, the thing it held up did the rest of the work. The broken link was stretched out almost straight. Finally, the chandelier the chain had been supporting fell. The mass of glass and steel crashed down upon the dragon's back, Gerard letting himself fall away at the last moment.

The impact flattened the dragon and the room became dim. Aclan, Isabel, and Gardta all rushed the beast's head before it could recover. Isabel blinded its good eye. Gardta fired her crossbow into the dragon's already bad eye. Aclan chopped down into the dragon's head three times, finally splintering through its skull.

All these injuries, combined with those given to it by the Chaos dwarfs and their slaves, were finally too much for the magma wyrm. It thrashed out its death throes, scattering those who had slain it. It sprayed its heat breath around indiscriminately, forcing everyone to take shelter.

Finally, though, after much too long, the dragon went still. No one came out of cover or even said anything for a full two minutes.

Gardta was the first to emerge. She didn't go to the dragon, but instead to the fallen form of her uncle. Thrald did not move. Most of his beard had been burned away. The runesmith's axe remained embedded in the dragon's corpse.

"Is he…?" Weil wheezed.

"Gone", Gardta's voice was eerily distant and quiet after the cacophony of battle.

"Did...did he manage to get the safe open?" Hektor asked.

"Aye", Gardta said in a complete, heavy monotone as she pointed.

The dragon's breath had reduced that safe, all its contents, and all those around it to little more than an rapidly cooling snarl of half-melted slag.

* * *

Gardta had promised them all a proper reward, one the fulfilled Thrald's oath to them all, once the treasure was safe back in Karak Kadrin, the Slayer Keep. Karak Kadrin was much closer to Karak Barid than where they had started their journey in Middenland, but Thrald had been abroad in the Empire looking for help when he could find none among his own kind.

The shame in the faces of the Karak Kadrin dwarfs that help move the treasure, and help break down the dragon's corpse for use in crafting, spoke volumes for how they felt about not aiding Thrald before.

Deep in the bowels of Karak Kadrin, an escort of four dwarf warriors guided Weilstadt to the treasure. They had been resting in the hold for three days. No one came out of the fight against the dragon without a body covered in blisters or lung scorched by breathing superheated, sulfurous air. During that time, his spatha was in the possession of another runesmith from Thrald's clan, having a rune placed upon it to help the blade pierce armor.

It appeared that Karak Kadrin had several vaults the size of the single vault in Karak Barid. Weil was led to one of these and brought inside.

Gardta was inside the vault, but she had changed. She had shaved her head save for one stripe down the center of it, which she had dyed bright orange and greased so it stood up straight. Her armor was gone. The only things were wore were striped trousers and wide straps of leather that bound her breasts in place. Weilstadt knew what this meant. Gardta had taken the Slayer's Oath. Weilstadt had seen scores of Slayers around Karak Kadrin (which made the name "Slayer Keep" make a lot more sense, in hindsight). Now Gardta was bound to seek death in battle. Only when she died would the shame of what occurred in Karak Barid be erased. It didn't make much sense to Weilstadt. Gardta had done nothing wrong. But, it wasn't his decision to make.

Gardta tossed a small, empty sack to Weil and pointed to the pile of treasure they had brought from Karak Barid.

"You may fill that", Gardta said. There was a new, uneven edge to her voice.

Weil frowned, looking at the treasure. It felt wrong to take it. There was blood on it, figuratively.

"I don't need any of this", Weil said. He felt foolish for doing so.

The dwarf warriors shifted uncomfortably as Gardta's shoulder muscles visibly tensed.

"You'll fill it, _umgi_", Gardta said, deep and threatening. "You'll not be leaving me with a second oath on my conscience."

His frown deepening, Weil nodded. If it weighed so heavily on him, he could just donate the gold to the Shallyans in the next city they went to. Without looking too hard, Weil shoved some coins into the sack, keenly feeling the gaze of the Slayer. As he did this, his hand brushed against a curious amulet. It was utterly unlike the blocky, angular artifice of the dwarfs. It was a pendant of red crystal in the shape of a teardrop with emeralds cut to resemble leaves spread out on its back. Something about it appealed to Weil. He held it up for Gardta's approval.

"Looks like _elgi _make. _Drak _probably added it to its hoard after taking the hold", Gardta grunted. "Take the bloody thing."

Weil did so. Quickly, he filled the remainder of the bag with gold and a few gems, then tied it closed and slung the hefty bag over his shoulder.

"Probably won't see you again, _umgi. _Thank you for your help. Now off with you", Gardta said.

"Gods keep you", Weilstadt said, allowing the guards to lead him off. He wasn't partial to overbearing allegory, but the gold on his back felt like a weighed a lot more than it should.

When the time finally came for them to depart, Aclan, Isabel, and Weilstadt were riding their horses down the slopes, away from Karak Kadrin. Ser Gerard had already departed the dwarf hold and Hektor was still in the care of the healers of Valaya, for he had been severely burned.

"Everyone get what they wanted?" Weil asked.

"They allowed me to trade my share of the treasure for a few pieces of the dragon and a vial of its blood", Isabel elaborated. "All in all, I'm rather pleased with that result."

"We're lucky any of us are walking away from a battle with a dragon", Aclan noted. "Closest cities to here are Bechafen. I suggest we go there, take passage on the River Talabec to Altdorf, then decide where to go from there."

"Works for me", Weilstadt said, tapping Dust's flanks with his heels. "Let's get a move on, then."

* * *

_I had done the thing adventurers dreamed of. I had helped slay a dragon and claimed its hoard. The dwarf chroniclers had identified the beast as Dymurrath the Unchained Fury. We had dreamt of riches. Most of us had died in the attempt to gain them. I'm sure there is supposed to be some kind of moral point made here about the real price of wealth and glory. If there is, you've gotten it by now, I'm sure._

_I gave the majority of my share to the Shallyan hospice that had been the primary means of healing we'd received in the Sewer Watch. I kept the elven amulet. What remained of the gold, I gave to Frau Becker. Even she had been shocked when she saw the money I was handing her. It all but guaranteed that my nephew, Tobias, would have his education paid for. I hoped he would take advantage of it. I hoped the boy would grow up to live a boring, plodding life of working for a good living every day, then go home to a nice wife and a happy family at the end of the day._

_As for us, we decided that a change of scenery would be nice. We turned out gazes south._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 7: Silver, Gold, and Other False Gods."_


	9. Interlude: A Midwinter Night's Dream

The road south through Bretonnia had been surprisingly easy. It was thanks, in large part, to the fact that Weilstadt, Aclan, and Isabel had stopped in Terre in Parravon. Parravon was just on the other side of Grey Lady Pass from Reikland. There, Ser Gerard d'Terre, now a Knight of the Realm, gave them a letter of introduction to present to the other lords of Bretonnia as they made their way south. Apparently they were notoriously difficult to get, usually.

The trio was stopped at an inn in the Bretonnian town of Rondeaux in the dukedom of Quenelles. The peasants there, and everywhere else in Bretonnia, had one of two mindsets; suspicious beyond belief, or awestruck at the newcomers in their little hamlet. Sometimes it was both. Either way, Weil was getting tired of all the attention.

The inn didn't have a name. It had a sign with a picture of a frothy mug and that was it. The main room of the tavern was a dirt floor with straw strewn across it and some barrels against one wall. Weil had not been expecting the palace of the Duke d'Quenelles, but this was rough. Having money really had spoiled him.

Whatever the case, Weil drank, Ac drank less, and Isabel excused herself once night fell to go "take a walk." That meant "hunt an animal and drink its blood." Weil found it admirable that she was so disciplined at maintaining the Thirst. According to Isabel's own admission, surviving on animal blood was like a human surviving entirely on burned rat meat.

As per the usual, Weilstadt was the last one to go to bed. When he was ready to do so, he stepped outside to relieve himself one last time. Weil whistled tunelessly to himself as he approached a tree just out the back of the inn. It was a crisp, early autumn night with a refreshing breeze rustling the stripe hair on the top of Weil's head.

Beyond the tree, only twenty yards away, were the eaves of Athel Loren. No small number of peasants had told the adventuring trio to avoid that place. "The Fair Folk will eat your soul", one said. "The Elfqueen will turn you into an old man", another warned. Another had said something else but he'd had no teeth and a sever case of goiter so Weil couldn't understand him.

Whatever the case, Weilstadt finished his business and was ready to go back inside when he heard the unmistakable sound of a page being flipped. He was not particularly drunk that evening (the peasants watered down their booze so much it should have been a crime.) Thus, when Weil looked up for the source of the sound, he was quite sure it was authentic.

A hooded and cowled figure clad in blue rested on the branch of the tree, sitting cross-legged on a narrow branch. They held a book in their hands and were reading intently.

"What the…", Weil started to say. "Wait...you're one of them, uh...ass-rye? Asrai."

The wood elf turned their black eyes on Weilstadt, saying in a woman's airy, lilting voice, "it's rude to interrupt someone when they're reading, mayfly."

"Oh. Sorry. You just surprised me", Weil apologized. He peered at the cover of the book she was reading. "Ah, The Rising of Sir Marcellus. That's my favorite book. Heh, what a coincidence that...wait…"

Weilstadt took a closer look. He readily recognized the well used and worn cover of his copy of The Rising.

The elf already figured out the jig was up. She let out a soft laugh as she stood up and leapt from the branch in one fluid motion. She rolled when she hit the grass, scampering into Athel Loren.

"Hey! Thief! Give that back!" Weil cried. His spatha let out a dull sching as he drew it and gave chase after the thieving, blue-clad elf.

Weil chased the elf into the trees. It quickly proved a hopeless endeavor. She was always just barely within sight, flashes of blue between trees or leaping from branch to branch. The Sewer Jack drew no closer, but nor did the elf fully draw away. He was too blind with anger to suspect anything. Weil didn't even notice the temperature dropping, or his breath fogging before him, or even when his boots crunched against grass and weeds encrusted with frost.

Then, suddenly, Weil lost sight of the elf. Weil's lungs and legs were both on fire. He stopped, leaning against the nearest tree and looking around through the clouds produced by his breath.

"Oh", he grunted to himself as he finally took in his surroundings, "...I...have plowed myself."

Weilstadt was in Athel Loren, the magical and deadly forest of the wood elves. He had only his spatha and the gambeson he wore beneath his dwarf-forged breastplate. His other arms and armor were locked up in his room at the inn. The elf's flight had not been a straight path. Weil had no idea how to get out of the forest.

"Son of a bitch", Weil cursed. He took a deep breath, sheathing his sword. If the elves could all move like the book thief, his sword would be useless against arrows from the trees. Better to look non threatening for the moment. "Hey! Bring that back, thief!" Perhaps shouting demands didn't fall under "non threatening" very well. Oh well.

Weil's blood boiled even in the cold. She hadn't stolen his money, his gear, anything else. She specifically stole his most prized possession, something that was monetarily worthless. Last time he'd encountered a wood elf, he'd freed them from bondage and given them a weapon. Perhaps he'd been too ready to help them, if this is how they treated strangers.

The impetuous Sewer Jack heard laughter. He swiveled toward the direction he'd heard it from.

"Aaah, this is a trap", he mumbled, going in the direction of the laughter. "Sod it all."

Weilstadt followed the laughter. Before long his boots were packing down snow with every step. He paused and looked down at this.

"What the…?" Weil trailed off. It was still autumn. How the hell was there snow on the ground? "This bloody forest really is magic. Can't it be magic in the 'summons topless elf lasses' way instead of the 'it's plowing cold in autumn' way?" He crossed his arms over his chest. His gambeson went a fair way of keeping him warm, but a cloak and a hood would help a lot.

Athel Loren was dark and foreboding. Weil felt like he was being watched at every turn. He had to feel his way along and kept tripping over tree roots and getting hit in the face with branches. By all the gods, he was going to be taking this out of that thieving elf's hide once he caught up.

There was a light up ahead. The laughter had stopped so that was probably his best bet. Weilstadt struggled on his way towards the light, feeling more and more like an idiot with every step. This was how people came down with severe cases of "never seen again." Yet, of few things he owned, that book was the only thing he'd chase after no matter where it went. He'd go back to Karak Barid to take that dragon on by himself for it, if he had to.

Weilstadt emerged into a small copse. A fire crackled in its center, dancing upon the trunks of the surrounding trees. A few animal skins were laid out around the fire, along with clay jugs and hide sacks. Most importantly, the elf Weil had been chasing was once more sitting cross legged, this time upon on of the animal skins on the other side of the fire from Weil, once again reading his book.

"You caught me at last", the elf snickered. "Well done, human. This book is g-..."

She stopped as Weil drew his sword and out the blade under her chin.

"Give it back", Weil demanded through clenched teeth. "Now."

At once, the elf held the book out to him. Weilstadt snatched it, immediately checking it over for damage. Blessedly, it was exactly as it had been before being stolen.

"I did not realize it held such importance to you." The elf said as something kind of approaching an apology.

"It was a gift from my parents", Weil muttered, letting out a relieved sigh. "Only thing I've got left to remember them by."

"Oh. Gods. I'm so sorry", the elf apologized. She put her hands together and bowed her head.

Weil's mouth became a thin line, "says the thief."

"I just wanted to get your attention", she replied.

"So...fun fact...there are ways of doing that which don't involve theft", Weil chastised.

"True, but when you've lived as long as we do, you have to make your own fun." The elf shrugged.

Reasoning with the fae creature probably wasn't going to happen, so Weil ignored that statement and said, "why is it so damn cold here?

"You're in Anmyr. The Winterhold", Mavaen answered. "Even in the height of summer, there is snow in this Realm. Such is the nature of the Realms of Athel Loren. In Tirsyth, it is eternally autumn."

"Ah", Weil grunted, ""anyhow, how do I get back?"

"I'll show you the way, but first, you should come and sit. Relax. Allow me to thank you." The elf offered.

"Thank me? For what?"

"You don't remember cutting my bonds, saving others from my kithband and I from the Chaos dwarves?" The elf asked.

"Oh", Weil said, now surprised. It had been over a month since then. "Well, I didn't figure you were the same elf from back then."

"Hah. That's fair", the asrai replied. She pulled back her hood, revealing a head of snowy hair. Pulling her cowl down revealed an angular chin and slight, thin-lipped mouth. A pair of small scar ran over the left side of her lips and down her chin. "My name is Mavaen. I'd like to share a drink with you as a token of thanks from myself and my kithband. Would you find that agreeable?" She smiled and tapped one of the clay jugs with her boot.

Oh. Well, that changed things. Weil had certainly read stories about what happened to those who accepted food or drink from the Fair Folk in the woods, but...well, they were just stories, weren't they? Only one way to find out.

"Name's Volker", the Sewer Jack said as he sheathed his sword and said, "well...ah, one drink never hurt anyone." He sat down across the fire from Mavaen, placing his book on one of the furs beside him.

"Splendid", Mavaen enthused. She rose and poured two brimming cups from one of the jugs, handing one to Weil and sitting down a few feet away.

Weil looked in his cup at the syrupy, sweet smelling liquor within. "Hm. Smells like mead."

"Sprigwine. You'll only find it here in Athel Loren so count yourself lucky, mayfly."

"Hm", Weil breathed. He took a sip, smacking his lips and saying, "huh. It's good. Don't taste a drop of booze in it, though."

Mavaen giggled in a mischievous way. "Oh, it's there in abundance. Don't you worry."

"I see", Weil said. "You know, I wasn't expecting thanks when I helped you. Was just the right thing to do."

"Which is why you are all the more deserving", Mavaen explained. She drained her wine cup in one go, letting out a pleased sigh as she poured herself another. "You risked yourself in the middle of battle and gave up one of your weapons. My kith and I likely could have escaped regardless, but your generosity did not go unnoticed. It was very…", she searched for a word, "...heroic."

"Aah, don't go hanging that hat on my head", Weil laughed at the idea.

"Hat?"

"Calling me heroic. I'm not a hero, lass."

A quare smirk crossed Mavaen's lips, "and what exactly are you then, mayfly?"

"I'm...uhm...hm…", Weil pondered over a couple more drinks, "...I don't know. I guess I'm just whatever I need to be at a given time. Or what I think I need to be, anyway."

"Well, one way or another, all of Anmyr is grateful", Mavaen gestured around herself. "There are so few of us left in the world and we have lost so much. That's beyond my personal gratitude for simply safeguarding my own life."

"I'm happy to help", Weil said. Then he had a thought, "actually. Speaking of lost...just one...hold on…"

Weil took something from around his neck. He'd been wearing the elven medallion he'd taken from the Karak Barid hoard. Aclan had no idea what to make of it. Perhaps this woman would know.

"Where did you get that?" Mavaen asked, her mouth slightly agape.

"A dragon's hoard", Weil answered, offering it to her. "My asur partner told me it'd be worth something in Tilea...or really anywhere...but if it belongs to your people then I couldn't sell it in good faith now that I have a chance to return it."

"This doesn't just belong to my people", Mavaen whispered, accepting the trinket as if it would fracture at the most delicate mishandling. "This is one of my people. It's a wayshard."

Weil waited for her to explain.

"When an asrai dies within the bounds of Athel Loren, their soul goes to one of the waystones on the borders of the forest", Mavaen explained. "We wear wayshards when we leave Athel Loren so our souls are not taken by She Who Thirsts upon death."

"Who?" Weil asked.

"You would know her as the Chaos God Slaanesh", Mavaen said the word with high distaste. "The Prince of Pleasure and Pain."

Weilstadt grimaced. "Oh. So there's a soul in that medallion?"

"Yes. And now I can have them returned to the waystones, to final rest", Mavaen's breath hitched as emotion overcame her. "Forgive me. It's just...we expect those who are lost to be lost forever. This is a joyous occasion. You've saved one of our people from an eternity of torment and brought them home." She hugged the medallion to her chest.

"Did you know them?" Weil asked.

"No", Mavaen answered. "But all asrai are family. We are all each other have."

Not sure what to say to that, Weil opted to get himself more sprigwine.

Mavaen hung the wayshard around her own neck, tucking it beneath her tunic. "You are an unexpected mayfly, Volker. It's not often the Cadai work through your kind."

Aclan had explained to Weil that the Cadai were the good elven gods and the Citharai were the bad ones. "At least, that's as simple as I can make it for a human", Ac had added onto the end. Weil wasn't so sure any gods were working through him. Maybe that was the point.

"Happy to help", he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. Ranald's bones, he was not good at accepting praise.

Mavaen smiled, holding her cup up in a toast, "to you, Volker. May you live a happy and long life...for a human, anyway."

"Hah, to your health, Mavaen", Weil said in return, drinking deeply. He was already feeling a little fuzzy in his forehead and behind his eyes. Mavaen hadn't been joking about the wine's strength. "Well, I should probably head back…"

"So soon? Come, just one more cup, eh? You just got here, the fire's warm, and the wine's plentiful", Mavaen insisted. She picked up a jug, leaning over to top Weil's half-empty cup off.

Weil started to protest, but he stopped himself. One more wouldn't hurt. Mavaen had said she'd lead him out of the forest, after all. So he drank.

The next one didn't hurt either. Nor did the one after that, or the one after that…

* * *

Something stirred Weilstadt from sleep. His head felt heavy, like he was still drunk. Which, he probably was. What was strange was the fact that he was not sleeping on a crappy straw pallet, as he been the norm in Bretonnia.

Details filtered back to him. Right. Chasing an elf into a magic forest like a blasted idiot. Drinking way too much in a place that people entered and never returned from. That sounded right.

The pressure on Weil's midsection that he'd thought was just a blanket was much too heavy for that. He reached down and his hand came into contact with a leg. It wasn't his leg though. Through an inebriated haze, Weilstadt could feel the clockwork cogs turning in his mind as he finally realized he could just solve the problem by opening his eyes.

Mavaen was on top of him. She had some kind of look on her face that Weil didn't understand but it probably wasn't good.

Well, this is it. Weil thought to himself. I went in the magic forest, drank the mysterious booze, now's the part where I get my heart cut out and my body lashed to a tree.

The asrai made a sudden move. Weil tensed. Apparently, it wasn't needed. Mavaen tossed her tunic aside. Now all she was wearing was the wayshard around her neck and swirling tattoos of blue ink that wound their way up her legs all the way up to her collar bones.

Weil stammered, "M-Ma-Mavaen?"

"Is something the matter, Volker?" The asrai asked, apparently unbothered by the winter air. Sure, the fire was warm, but she was kind of completely naked.

"I don't...think so?" Weil replied.

"Good", Mavaen said, smiling broadly. "Do you want this?"

It didn't take much contemplation for Weilstadt to nod his affirmation and say, "uh, aye, aye, I do."

Mavaen's response was to lean down and kiss Weil on the mouth, parting his lips with her tongue.

From there, things...escalated.

* * *

Weilstadt lost track of time. He knew it had to have been hours. Maybe longer. Mavaen repeatedly assured him that all was well. The Sewer Jack was not in a position to protest that.

Eventually, it had to come to an end. Mavaen led Weilstadt out of the forest at a much easier pace than she had drawn him in. It had been an unexpected deviation in his journey. Not at all a bad one, of course, but certainly unexpected.

Finally, after they had left the snow of Anmyr behind, Mavaen stopped. Weil did as well.

"Alright. You'll just go that way for one-hundred yards", Mavaen pointed over her shoulder. "You'll see the inn through the trees before long."

"Right. Of course", Weil said, feeling peculiar at this parting. Not bad, but strange. This was just weird.

Mavaen smiled at him, "before you go, I have a couple things for you. First", she undid the on her azure cloak, throwing it around Weil's shoulders. The pin was a red heart upon a black leaf, the heart split as if by a lightning bolt. "This will mark you as a friend of Anmyr, and thus a friend of the asrai. Wear it well."

"Oh. Wow. Thank you", Weil said, pleasantly surprised, forcing himself to not comment about how this was just like what happens to Markus the Mighty in Bane of the Beastmen. He shifted around under the cloak's embrace to ensure it settled properly.

"Secondly", Mavaen began as she unbuckled her sword belt, "my personal ceyl, crafted of moonsteel by my grandfather. I want you to have it."

At this, Weil's eyes went wide as he gasped, "I could never…"

"You readily gave me your blade. Please, let me do the same", Mavaen insisted.

Weilstadt looked at the dark leather scabbard, finally accepting the weapon and drawing it by it's hide wrapped hilt. The silvery steel of the ceyl glimmered in the moonlight that filtered through the trees. There was a sort of spiral pattern delicately etched into the blade, mimicking the cold gales of winter.

"I call it Windsong", Mavaen explained with pride. "May it be a ready companion to you in the battles to come."

Weil nodded solemnly. "I will. Every foe it smites in my hand will be in your honor."

"Save the flattery for the mayfly lasses, Volker", Mavaen joked. She leaned in, pecking Weil on the cheek one last time, "now, off with you. The world is missing its hero."

"Hah. I'll not keep them waiting, then", Weilstadt chuckled. "Goodbye, Mavaen."

He turned his back on her and went on his way. After taking a few steps, he looked back, but the asrai was already gone.

Soon after, Weil was emerging from the trees of Athel Loren behind the inn he'd left what felt like...well, a long time ago. As he stepped out, he saw Aclan and Isabel emerge with weapons drawn.

"Volker! Are you alright? I heard you shouting about a thief", Aclan said quickly.

Weil cocked his head, "Ac, that was hours ago."

Isabel sighed, "now is a poor time for jests, Herr Wei-...where did you get that cloak?"

"And the sword", Aclan pointed out.

Weilstadt shook his head like he might wake up from a surreal dream. Alas, it did not happen.

"I don't think you'd believe me if I told you", Weilstadt muttered, brushing past his comrades and heading inside.

Aclan and Isabel shared a baffled look for several seconds before finally following after him.


	10. Of Wyrdstone and Silver

_...but, eventually, it was time to leave Tilea. It had not been bringing the bounty we had hoped, though the change of scenery had been rather nice. Being a bodyguard to so many different people had been interesting, I suppose, and the return to Sewer Watch work for a couple of days had been a fine homage in a place that actually respected their Sewer Jacks._

_It was on our return journey that Lady Isabel revealed to Aclan and I that she was nearing completion of her cure formula. The herbalists of Bretonnia and the widely varied markets of Tilea had provided her much of what she needed. Isabel required two more ingredients, she said._

_These ingredients were...shall we say, a point of contention._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 7: Silver, Gold, and Other False Gods"_

* * *

"Wyrdstone? Bloody wyrdstone?!" Weil exclaimed. Beneath him, Dust whickered and snorted, beating an uneven tattoo with his hooves while walking.

Isabel gave Weil a flat look, "you were under the impression that vampirism could be cured with happy thoughts and ale?"

"Look, I ain't encountered a problem yet in my life that can't be solved with happy thoughts and ale", Weil countered.

The trio were riding through Blackfire Pass, bound for Averland. The last gasps of autumn were trying to stave off the freezing clutches of winter with limited success. It was in this pass that Sigmar Heldenhammer had crushed the orcs in the final battle that had established the Empire of Man over two thousand years ago. Even now, Weil could feel the ghosts of history around him in the rocky terrain.

"You can't blame Volker's reluctance, my lady", Aclan reasoned. "You're not precisely asking to, ah, borrow a cup of sugar, as the humans say."

"Humans say that?" Weil asked, his ire temporarily forgotten.

"Those that could afford sugar, anyway", Aclan said with a shrug.

"Be that as it may, it changes nothing." Isabel said, undaunted. "It is a necessary component of the elixir that will free my body from this curse. For what it's worth, I do not need very much."

Weil sullenly looked ahead. It _was _good that she only needed a little, but the vampiric Lady didn't need to know that. "Doesn't matter if it's a gram or a hundred pounds. The Witch Hunters will take you to the pyre just as surely, if not all three of us."

"This may come as a shock to you, Herr Weilstadt, but I have learned a few methods of discretion while living as an undead abomination in order to not be discovered as such. I can extend such talents to concealing a bit of wyrdstone. It is obtaining it that concerns me." Isabel said, growing testy. "Look, if it's such an issue, you can renege on our agreement and we can go our separate ways."

Properly guilted, Weil sighed and said, "no, no, I don't mean it like that. It's just that I know the best place to get wyrdstone and our path back to Altdorf will be taking us near it. So I'm not looking forward to that."

"Where is that?" Aclan asked, surprised. "I am shocked there is a ready source for it in the Empire."

"'Ready' ain't exactly accurate", Weil corrected. "Well-known? Yes. And, gods help us all, that's where we're headed."

Perched upon a nearby rock, a crow took to wing, flying to the northwest. Unfortunately for the trio of adventurers, they did not realize this carrion bird was not an ordinary specimen of its kind.

* * *

Carmina did not know the name of the village. It didn't matter. It may have looked like a small cluster of hovels on a little hill surrounded by trees. As with any mortal settlement, it was a corral for livestock, nothing more. The luddite inhabitants stared dumbly as Carmina rode into town, no doubt more beautiful and magnificent than anything these dirty peasants had seen in their entire lives. They could not know that Carmina concealed her vampiric pallor, and the unnatural nature of her horse, with a pair of simple spells. To them, she looked like an upper class adventurer, most likely. Her lack of a dress and mannish, if finely made, travel garb no doubt scandalized some of the vermin

It was to the village's lone commercial establishment, its tavern, that Carmina rode. The rest like their pathetic blacksmith and carpenter; these were just individuals operating out of their little mud holes they called houses. However, even these barbarians required a place to drink disgusting swill until they could forget just how empty and pointless their lives were.

No, indeed. Carmina did not enjoy this. It was, however, a necessity. Looking towards the center of town, she saw the smoking remains of a pyre. One misstep and that would he her ashes cooling in the chill wind.

She passed through the door of the tavern. It had no name. These plebians probably couldn't read. The main room of the ground floor was simply dirt covered with straw. Her earlier comparison to a corral was reinforced by the fact that this was clearly their barn. She ignored the blunt inquiries of the bartender and the lewd stares of the peasants temporarily breaking from their labors. How sad these lazy louts would be when vampires ruled the Empire.

However, there was a rough looking fellow with an unstrung bow in the corner, joined by a bald woman that was heavily scarred and tattooed with Sigmarite scripture. Piotr and Betje. She knew them well enough. They nodded to her. She returned the gesture with a slight tilt of the head. She feared Betje, admittedly. That firebrand was never fully trusting of anyone save for the man Carmina was here to see.

Carmina mounted the stairs, following a familiar scent. She frowned as she looked ahead to her task. It had been amusing, even exciting, once. Now, it had grown tedious; altogether too easy. Such was the price one as skilled as her had to pay.

The vampiress reached a roughly hewn door. She cleared her throat, getting into character, and knocked on the door.

"_I am occupied"_, a rough voice from within said.

"Aren't you always, my dear Ursel?" Carmina replied.

A pause.

A chair scooted against the floor.

Footsteps approached the door.

The face that emerged as the door opened was not a handsome one. Ursel Krantz had not been much to look at in his youth. Two decades as a Witch Hunter of Sigmar had not improved anything. He only had one blue eye, the left one covered in a patch. His nose was rather long and he always cut his own hair, not trusting a barber's blade in his paranoia, so he always looked disheveled.

"Carmina", Krantz murmured, a smile spreading across his face. Happy to see the enemy. It was poetic, if nothing else.

"The very same", Carmina said, affecting a soft, longing voice. She placed a gentle hand on Krantz's chest and guided him back into the threadbare room the Witch Hunter had claimed. It was orderly save for the desk across the way, which was a mess of papers and writing materials.

Krantz closed the door, asking, "what brought you here?"

"The Emperor's work", Carmina replied. Her standard answer. To Krantz, she was a spy and informant for the Imperial Palace in Altdorf. It had been a difficult, but exciting, trial to establish the cover.

"Of course. Well, I'll not pry, then", Krantz assured her. He returned to his desk and began writing again.

Carmina sat down on the edge of the straw-filled bed beside the desk. She knew better than to try to read Krantz's notes while he was awake.

"Something troubles you", the vampiress noted.

"I've always been transparent to you, haven't I?" Krantz confirmed in a melancholy way. "Indeed. You saw the pyre?"

A nod from Carmina. She preferred getting straight to business, but this extra talk was necessary.

"It was for a ten year-old boy. A mutant", Krantz explained, his quill strokes becoming a little more aggressive.

Carmina appropriately reached out and placed a hand on the Witch Hunter's shoulder. "You did your duty, Ursel. You cannot be faulted for that."

"I shot him in the head after lighting the pyre", Krantz confessed, his quill stopping a moment. "His cries...no, not even one so familiar with Old Night as I had a hard enough heart to bear it."

"The body burned. His corruption was destroyed all the same", Carmina stroked Krantz's back. "Sigmar understands, I am sure." The name of the Imperial deity prickled on the vampiress's tongue.

Krantz hung his head. "Perhaps I am too weak for this. The years have finally begun to catch up with me."

Carmina said nothing at first. She hated to admit it to herself, but she had developed a certain...affinity for Krantz over the years. This was especially after she used him in a rather suicidal, but ultimately successful, attempt to kill the vampire that sired her and her hated "sister", Isabel.

It was not love, of course. But she did feel a sort of admiration for the man. He had an incredibly sensitive soul, more suited for a maudlin minstrel or tragic playwright. It was that very soul that made him so easy to deceive with affection. Even through that, Krantz was as ardent a Witch Hunter as any of the emotionless, scripture spouting automatons that populated their ranks. Whatever the case, ironically enough, while Carmina hated all humans, she hated this Witch Hunter the least.

"You are as strong as ever", Carmina insisted. "This grief you feel...it is a sign. You are still human. More human, I dare to say, than many of your colleagues."

Krantz looked over at her. There was infatuation in his good eye. Gratitude.

"Never doubt yourself, Ursel. Others will do that for you in excess", Carmina spoke from honest experience there.

"Sigmar's breath, isn't that the truth", Krantz breathed, leaning back in his chair.

Silence for a bit. Carmina kept her hand upon the Witch Hunter.

"I hate to speak of business, but I'm afraid I must", Carmina changed gears. "I have discovered something foul. Something that offends the very core of the Empire." She made herself appear incredibly distressed.

Krantz got up at once, sitting beside Carmina on the bed and putting an arm around her, "it's alright. You know you can trust me."

"What do you know of the Monte family?" Carmina asked. She waited an appropriate few seconds before calming down.

"Steadfast allies against the forces of Old Night, especially the undead", Krantz said. "I've worked with at least one Monte in my life, a former Black Guard of Morr, now of of Morr's priests. Hartwin, his name was."

Carmina endured the tangent, then spoke, "then my news will be all the more troubling. Lady Isabel Monte is a vampire. Currently, she travels with two thralls, an elf and a man."

Krantz blinked. "One of the Montes? A vampire? Surely not…"

"I saw as certainly as I see you now, Ursel", Carmina insisted, taking grim pleasure in seeing Krantz's eyes widen. He could not dream of Carmina lying to him. "I would have done something, but I stand no chance against a vampire on my own, let alone a vampire with two dangerous thralls."

The Witch Hunter ran a hand through his thinning hair. His vocation had aged him beyond his years. Isabel was likely roughly the same age as Krantz, but while the march of time and terror had worn the Witch Hunter down, Carmina still had the same youthful appearance of her twenty-three year old self.

"You, on the other hand", Carmina went on, slipping her arms around Ursel's waist, "are strong and deadly as any fighter in the Empire, and none of them could hope to match your faith. With Piotr and Betje on your side, you could be the one to cleanse this stain on the name of the Monte family."

Krantz did not hesitate. He said, "it will have to be me. There is no time for anyone else…", he started to stand up, but Carmina's arms firmly held him in place.

"You have some time, my dear. I know where they're headed", Carmina assured Krantz.

"Where?"

"I saw them in Blackfire Pass. Isabel requires wyrdstone for some foul ritual of hers. There is only one place they could be going." Carmina revealed. She could see the figurative tumblers falling into place as Krantz figured it out.

"And here I had hoped never to have to return to that blasted place", Krantz lamented, rubbing his tired face. "But I shall do as Sigmar requires."

"Of course you will", Carmina agreed. She lightly pushed Krantz until he was laying down on the bed, his feet still on the floor. "But for the moment, we will be forgetting about all of that." She smiled impishly.

Krantz's gloomy mood brightened at once. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"The simple act of being yourself, my love", Carmina said as she began undoing the buttons of her travelling coat. It was the truth, after all. This would give her a chance to feed, too. Krantz was so enamored that all it took was a simple charm spell to make him oblivious to Carmina's fangs biting him where the marks would not be noticed.

* * *

Most people called the town simply Burg. Brigand's Burg was the full name but "Burg" was much easier to say when one was drunk to the point of being insensate. Nowhere else in the world had Weil seen construction so ramshackle or a populace so rough. Everyone in that muddy, cold, miserable place was either a thief, a prostitute, or a mercenary. Sometimes, they were all three. Weilstadt would have mostly blended in if not for the fact that he was joined by an elf in a resplendent cloak of white fur and a well appointed noblewoman in possession of all of her teeth.

"I have seen some truly abysmal places", Isabel commented. "But this...gods, what a mess."

Aclan's eyes followed a particularly curious group of ruffians as the two parties passed each other in the "street". "That's dustlings for you. Why build a better house when you can spend the money on whores and ale?"

"Whores and ale are pretty great, though", Weil countered.

"The lice and venereal diseases are worth it, I'm sure", the elf quipped.

"We will be gone before sundown, if all goes well", Isabel said. "Herr Weilstadt, you are certain this friend of yours will help?"

"Eh, I wouldn't call Maus a friend", Weil corrected. "But aye, if there's coin in it, he'll help. I'm just glad I remembered he came here after his time in the Sewer Watch."

The three adventurers followed Weilstadt to a tavern. Taverns were the most common building in Brigand's Burg, and few of them had anything special about them beyond "serves alcohol."

The tavern was a cramped, crowded, stinking place. Cheap tobacco blended with body odor mixed with half-spoiled beer into a horrific bouquet. There was no fecal matter, though, so all in all Weil couldn't be too upset about the stench.

Isabel looked like she'd been stunned as they entered. Her eyes twitched about over the dozens of people in the standing room only space.

"My lady?" Weil asked.

"Tell…", the vampiress cleared her throat. "...tell Herr Maus we'll pay him whatever he asks. I must...I have to go. I'll find you later."

With that, Isabel departed in a huff. Weil and Ac watched her go.

"Hm. She hasn't been disturbed by such confines before", Aclan noted.

"Aye. You're right", Weil agreed, ill at ease. "Must be a va-...", he paused.

Aclan gave him a scathing look.

"...a lady thing." Weil corrected.

"Indeed." Aclan said. "Is Maus here?"

"If not, hopefully someone will know where to find him." Weilstadt said. He scanned the room, trying to find the familiar face of the former Sewer Jack. He finally spotted the short man. He was at an angle to the entrance of the tavern, smoking a pipe and making marks on a map.

Weil made his way through the crowd over warped floorboards. Maus was a reedy and small man, hence his nickname. He had a bit of an underbite and his face was marked with the telltale scars of someone who had survived the pox. Weil didn't know what his real name was; Sewer Jacks didn't ask such questions. When he got close to Maus's table, the latter man addressed the former first.

"Here's someone I never thought would crawl out of those tunnels", Maus said in the provincial accent of a Talabeclander. His quill slowly crossed out a spot on his map.

"Maus", Weil greeted. "Got a new job. This is my partner, Aclan."

Maus glanced up, his pipe dancing as the small man's teeth fiddled with it. "Knife-ear, eh? Strange times."

"How creative, never heard that one", Ac breathed, rolling his eyes.

"You looking to strike it big? Glad you took me up on the offer." Maus enthused. He had returned to Altdorf a couple years after leaving the Sewer Watch, offering to help anyone willing get their start in his new home hunting wyrdstone. That was before Aclan's time.

"Eh, not really", Weil said. "Here on behalf of a patron. Well, patronness. She needs a very small amount of wyrdstone. We'd prefer to just buy some from someone rather than go get it ourselves."

Maus smiled in a condescending way, "Weil. Mate. That's not how shit works around here. You don't just pop over to the market and grab some of the green. You can't just sit on it here in the Burg or Sigmar's Cross or any of the shitholes that sprang up 'round the City of the Damned. It's the first place the Witch Hunters raid, or cultists, or those damn Sisters of Sigmar", he spat on the floor. "You grab the green and you sell the bloody stuff off as fast as possible."

"So we _can_ find a buyer, then", Weil reasoned, crossing his arms.

"You _could_, yeah, and there's only fifty-fifty odds they'll just kill you, take the money, and sell your gear off while they're at it." Maus went on. "You need connections, Weil. A patron. That's why mercenaries are so common here. Bring your own crew or you join an existing band, you don't go independent. So that really only leaves you one option."

Weil's heart sank. "Going in and getting it ourselves."

"Yeah", Maus confirmed. "Lucky for you, you just got reacquainted with the best guide in Brigand's Burg. If all you need's a little bit, should be a relatively easy stroll in and out. Will just be needing five crowns up front and twenty afterward."

Weil reeled. That rate was nothing short of ridiculous. But, given where they were going, it could have been much worse.

"Five now, ten after", Weil said. It wasn't his money, but it was the principle of the matter.

"Hah! No", Maus guffawed. "Three now, fifteen afterward."

"Done", Weil said. He shook hands with his old colleague, then passed over three crowns. Isabel would reimburse him later.

"Beautiful", Maus enthused, clinking the coins in his hand. "You got yourself a guide. When do we leave?"

"Soon as Lady Isabel decides we're worthy of her company again, I guess", Weilstadt sighed.

"Well, guess I can brief you on some of the shit we'll be facing in there", Maus suggested, gesturing to the seats across from him.

Weil listened closely. What he heard did not make him happy.

* * *

Brother Witch Hunter Templar Ursel Krantz watched as the woman with vibrant red hair entered the dingy tavern across the street. He had shed his ubiquitous wide-brimmed hat and great coat; those would have immediately signaled everyone in the entire town that a Witch Hunter was present. Some of his fellow Templars reviled such methods, seeing it as cowardice or a lack of faith in Sigmar's protection. As long as it saw heretics and abominations slain without blasphemous methods, Krantz did not see the issue.

Whatever the case, when he saw Lady Isabel Monte exit the tavern a few minutes later, joined by three men, he could not help but be saddened at what he noticed. Isabel was only pretending to breathe; vampires did not need to. So, too, was there an nigh imperceptible unnatural bent to her gait; a result of her muscles and tendons stiffening ever so slightly in undeath. These factors, along with a few others, confirmed what Carmina had said. Lady Isabel was a vampire. Her time as a monster hunter had made her knowledgeable on how to conceal her nature, that was clear. Krantz was not surprised to notice that the men following Isabel were not acting as thralls would, but were of their own free will. In all likelihood, they had been deceived and/or lightly charmed with subtle magics. Krantz shook his head at that idea, unable to imagine being so weak-willed.

Krantz began strategizing in his head. As the bloodlines diffused and evolved, many vampires lacked some well-known weaknesses but gained others, so Isabel being able to walk in the sun with just a hat to cover her face was not too great an issue. In fact, rather ironically, Isabel took the least planning on how to deal with (though that did not stop her from being the most dangerous of the group, naturally). The Witch Hunter's primary weapon was _Benediction, _a blessed handaxe of silvered steel that had never failed to slay the beasts of Old Night, along with a wooden stake made of ashwood. A glass flask of holy water and two silver bullets rounded out all the items Krantz possessed that could be useful against Isabel. His brace of pistols and throwing knives would do for the rest.

The vampiress's companions were another story, the elf especially. That long lived Elder Race produced warriors of great skill, and this elf looked much more rugged and strong than his willowy kinsmen. Then there was the heavily tattooed, badly scarred ruffian. Krantz knew a repeating crossbow when he saw one; many Templars who preferred ranged combat used them. He was least concerned about the small man leading the group, but would not discount him entirely. For all Krantz knew, that man was a powerful sorcerer or the vessel of a daemon.

The four targets left Brigand's Burg, heading east. Their road would not be a long one. It only led to one place.

"Piotr. Betje", Krantz grunted.

The Kislevite archer and Nordlander zealot appeared at the Witch Hunter's shoulders. They handed him his coat and hat.

"Time to go hunting, _tovarisch_?" Piotr asked. He wore no armor, just the dark, unrestraining garb of a hunter. It had been a long time since he had hunted anything other than two-legged prey.

"Please allow me the honor of smiting the vampire, Brother Krantz", Betje pleaded. The short Nordlander was built like a barrel and incredibly muscular. Beneath her ragged, scripture inscribed robe she wore a hauberk of mail directly against her skin so the steel might chaff and excoriate her flesh.

"The vampire is mine. You will deal with the others and give me the opening I need", Krantz instructed his henchmen. The Witch Hunter had been served by a lot of people over his many years. Betje was among his favorites; completely obedient to his every word, even when his words demanded restraint and mercy. Piotr was a mercenary through and through, but at least was loyal to his contract. Krantz couldn't really ask for more than that.

"Should we take 'em on the road?" Piotr inquired.

Krantz shook his head, "no. Facing a vampire in completely open terrain is a fool's endeavor or a method of last resort. No. The city will provide. We follow them. Keep your wits about you."

"Sigmar is our hammer and our shield. We cannot fail", Betje exalted, the chains of her flail rattling.

Nothing was ever so certain with a vampire. Krantz donned his coat and hat. Time to hunt.

* * *

The city was a blasted, malignant tumor on the face of the landscape. Its remaining towers raked at the sky like skeletal fingers. The blackened, filth encrusted rooftops of its crumbling buildings seemed to leech all the light from the surroundings. What should have been a bustling home to thousands of people was, instead, an almost completely silent ghost town. The streets were filled with rubble, creeping moss, and scattered bones. Abandoned carts rotted, mouldering curtains hung limply in windows to be eaten by rats and moths.

Not all of the dead were skeletons. Here and there, corpses in varying states of decay could be found. Usually they were in small groups, signs of skirmishes between warbands trying to get their greedy hands on precious nuggets of wyrdstone. The lack of carrion creatures was noticeable. It seemed only the largest, most vicious crows and other vermin had the fortitude to brave these cursed confines. Everything stank of decay and wet rot. There was something intangible, too. Something that tickled the back of the throat when one breathed in through the nose. Fear, maybe, or just the malevolent heart of this city reaching its creeping tendrils into any foolish enough to enter.

"Welcome to Mordheim, my friends", Maus said as they entered the outskirts of the City of the Damned. "Sigmar's least favorite shithole."

The story was well known in more urban areas of the Empire. Supposedly, the people of Mordheim had become so corrupt and wicked that Sigmar smote them with a twin-tailed comet from the sky. This was not the holy twin-tailed comet that had heralded Sigmar's birth long ago, but a cancerous, festering projectile of pure wyrdstone. Whether the Heldenhammer had actually sent the comet or not, the result of the same. Part of Mordheim was obliterated, everyone in it killed. The wyrdstone comet shattered, seeding new deposits of the blasphemous green stone all over the city. Most people came to collect as much of that stone as possible. Weil was just glad his group didn't need a lot.

Maus had listed off a long, _long _list of potential dangers. Living threats included skaven, possession cults, undead, mad hermits, hedge warlocks, or even just other humans, to name a few. Then there were traps leftover by others, strange anomalies, dangerous apparitions, and even the wyrdstone itself. However, the danger increased the further into the city one went, and Maus explained his intent to remain as close to the outskirts as possible.

This oppressive threat of danger hung over Weil like a shroud. He wanted nothing more than to be out of this city. Weil was bringing up the rear guard, with Maus leading the way and Isabel right behind him, followed by Aclan. Their progress was slow over the cluttered, uneven streets.

Normally, Weilstadt felt reassured by Lady Isabel's presence. Her vampiric abilities made her a powerful ally, and she seemed to have a firm control of her monstrous side. Her sudden disappearance earlier had been disturbing enough, but her lack of an explanation as to why she had gone was even more so. Having spent so much time around her, Weil could not help but notice that Isabel seemed to have more vitality about her than usual. That didn't happen when she fed on animals as she normally did. Had the press of bodies inside the tavern awoken the vampiress's red thirst? Now, the vast majority of the population of Brigand's Burg probably deserved having their blood drank in such a fashion, but it still wasn't a good sign.

_Ranald's bones, I'm out of my plowing depth. _Weilstadt silently lamented.

Everyone in the group stopped in the street as a gunshot sounded off elsewhere in the city. Two more happened immediately afterward. Then silence.

"Heh. Sounds like a disagreement", Maus commented. "Get used to it. You're never alone in Mordheim."

"I thought you said wyrdstone grew everywhere", Isabel said. "Yet, we have been in this accursed place for an hour and found none."

"Yeah, it grows everywhere, not everywhere _at once_. The easy shit gets picked up. Plus, we're moving slow and careful", Maus replied, not veiling his contempt. "If you want to rush, get another guide. I prefer surviving to spend my pay, and I'm sure you want your precious wyrdstone, eh?"

Isabel pursed her lips but did not continue the argument. "Lead on, then."

As the two of them moved on, Weilstadt used the opportunity to quietly address his elven friend. "She fed on someone."

"So you noticed, too", Ac uttered. "Let us be wary."

"Hey, if you want to stop and sightsee it's gonna cost extra", Maus said back to Weil and Ac.

The two former Sewer Jacks fell into step.

They began moving stealthily. Maus led them through buildings and alleys, checking corners and even basements for wyrdstone. There was not a flake of wyrdstone to be found.

More disturbing sights greeted them as they moved. A cracked fountain was not only full of oily water, but the water was raining upward, dissipating a few feet in the air. Against the wall of one alley was what appeared to be an amalgamation of flesh from several people plastered against the masonry.

At one point, the quartet was passing through a ruined theater. They were walking through the auditorium of the theater to bypass the fallen-in roof in the lobby. Weilstadt looked down the rows of crooked seats to the empty stage where an empty lectern still sat. In the back of his mind, Weilstadt could imagine the music, the performance of impassioned actors. He'd never liked plays as much as books, but they were still good, sometimes.

"Show's going on", Aclan said in a dreamy voice.

"What?" Weil coughed in surprise.

"Leave it, Weil", Maus warned, "and Herr Knife-Ears, you best not watch unless you want to star in the next act."

That threat seemed to snap Aclan out of it. Weilstadt felt like his skin was crawling. He had no idea what Maus meant by that and he sure as hell didn't want to know.

They passed out into the street. The theater was located in what was once a noble quarter meant to entertain the rich and powerful. This street was full of restaurants, dress shops, high end drinking establishments, and, of course, upper class bordellos. All the beauty and splendor was faded and gone, peeled away by time and the elements as certainly as the paint on the building fronts.

There was also the small issue of the fact that, just as Maus was deciding which direction they would move, someone emerged in the street down the street about thirty yards away to Weil's left. It was a rough looking human man carrying a crossbow. He was followed by another man, then a woman. The first one pointed and shouted something, lifting his crossbow without a second thought and firing.

"Fuck!" Weilstadt yelped, raising his repeater to his shoulder and sending three bolts down range as he and his companions scrambled for a diner across the street from them. Aclan's bow _twanged,_ Lady Isabel's handgun unleashing fire and smoke. Maus just ran for cover, his pistol forgotten. Weil saw two of the hostile mercenaries go down but more of them were emerging from the building the first ones had come from. Weil's group vaulted through the large streetside window of the diner, now devoid of glass, taking cover under the low wall that once supported the window.

"Surprised it took this long", Maus gasped, finally drawing his pistol and checking the load. He looked around the diner, then pointed with his pistol, "there has to be a back door. We can lose these jesters easily."

"Did you not notice?" Isabel asked. She was icily calm, not even bothering to reload her handgun.

"Notice what?" Maus asked.

"They are heading in the opposite direction of us. They are leaving", Isabel explained over the shouts, taunts, and threats from outside that were growing steadily closer.

Weilstadt, who was topping off his crossbow's load, inquired, "what does that have to do with us?"

"It means they've gotten what they've come for", Isabel answered with a hiss.

Maus screamed in terror as Isabel did something that Weilstadt had not seen since the Goldgather's End Gala. She dropped the minor visual glamors she employed to hide her vampiric nature, at once becoming sickly in pallor, her eyes now white and lifeless, her canine teeth becoming dreadful, glistening fangs. Isabel's fingernails, now vicious talons, rent apart the top of the low wall as she gripped it and pulled herself over the group's cover.

"My lady, wait!" Weilstadt cried. He was forced to crank the tension lever of his crossbow and move at the same time, rushing out into the street as he heard terrified cries and ringing steel.

Weilstadt had seen slaughter before. Chaos spawn in the sewers ripping his fellow Sewer Jacks apart, beastmen annihilating fellow adventurers while on a job, etc. But even in those cases, it was not entirely one-sided. Chaos spawn could be wounded, beastmen killed. Weilstadt had never seen a fully-fledged vampire, freshly fed, in action against humans.

Bullets and crossbow bolts merely bounced off of Isabel. She had already closed the distance with the mercenaries, her claws raking across the throat of the one nearest her. Five more remained. Isabel didn't even bother drawing her sword. She closed with another mercenary, her claws scattering chainmail links and innards alike. She was struck from behind by an axe, a blow that did nothing. Isabel grabbed the axewoman's arm, ripped it from the socket, and kicked the mercenary away with enough for to audibly shatter her ribs and smash her into the wall across the street.

Those that remained realized they could not win. They tried to run back the way they had come. Weilstadt shouted as loud as he could for Isabel to stop, but she did not hear him. Using her superior speed, Isabel ran down the first mercenary, punching her clawed hand through his back and out through his chest. With her other hand, she drew a dagger from the dying man's belt and hurled it at another merc. The blade sank up to the hit into the woman's skull and she pitched forward to the ground.

The last mercenary suffered the most merciful fate. Isabel dropped the corpse she was holding and swooped down upon her final victim from behind, gripped both sides of his head, and _twisted_. With a sickening snap, the man's head was turned at a ghastly angle, and he perished.

It was madness to do so, but Weilstadt slung his crossbow across his back and drew his swords. He did not know if the rune-enhanced steel of his spatha or the moonsteel of _Windsong _could hurt a vampire, but he just saw firsthand evidence that trying to run away was fruitless. Was Mordheim itself affecting her? Or was her control slipping?

"My lady", Weilstadt gruffed, advancing on the vampiress. "'Fraid I'm going to have to humbly request that you calm. The. Fuck. Down."

When he was within the reach of a swordstroke, Isabel looked back at him. She was splattered with blood, her face twisted with anger, disgust, and grief. She hissed, "these people would have killed you without a second thought. They shot first. I am far too close to finally being rid of this curse to allow rabble like this to stop me."

"And you bloody think that turning back into a human will stop you from being a monster?" Weilstadt challenged her. "Because given how you just ran down and massacred three people that were trying to flee, I'm not seeing it. What's the next stepping stone that's suddenly alright?"

"You do _not _get to judge me, Herr Weilstadt", Isabel snapped. "You have no idea what I've had to go through!"

"As if you're the only one who's been dealt a shit hand!" Weil retorted, his blood boiling hot. He spoke not of his own life; his own choices had put him where he ended up. But countless others did nothing wrong and still suffered.

"The both of you should probably calm yourselves. Our guide has abandoned us", Aclan's calm, unimpressed voice cut through the argument.

Sewer Jack and noblewoman both forgot their anger for a moment. Weil groaned. Foolish, shortsighted vampire tripping at the finish line of her quest for restored humanity. It was like a damn fable.

"Ran out the back door, I expect", Aclan mused. "We're on our own getting out of here", he nocked an arrow upon his bowstring, "you'll understand if we leave searching the bodies for wyrdstone to you, my lady. We'll cover you. Won't we, Volker?"

Weil scowled, but said, "aye. We'll cover you." He sheathed his swords and took up his crossbow. "We did have a deal to help you, after all."

"I thank you", Isabel said with little conviction.

Weilstadt walked past Isabel, once more switching to his crossbow. Isabel found what she needed in rather short order. Her assumption had been correct. The vampiress fairly tore open the satchel of one of the mercs and a cluster of black-green, crystalline stones clack against each other and fell to the street.

"Finally", Isabel said. She wrapped one of the pieces in a thick cloth and tucked it away. "We have what we need."

"If we head back through the theater, I believe I can follow our path out of here", Aclan surmised. "Put aside your differences until we're out of the city, if you'd please."

Weil and Isabel looked at each other uneasily, but neither rekindled the issue. With Aclan in the lead, they began making their path out of Mordheim.

* * *

Weilstadt was relieved to see a familiar bridge over a dry canal. As he recalled, from the trip in, they were only about half an hour away from where Mordheim began to thin out in the outskirts. They were coming from a residential district of near symmetrical block houses and heading toward an empty market square.

Aclan stopped in the middle of the bridge. He pointed to the other side of the forty-foot span to the corpse that lay in a heap there. That had certainly not been present on the way in. After a few seconds, Weil realized why the body was truly significant.

"Maus", Aclan gave it voice.

A gunshot rang out. Isabel screamed and fell to the ground. An arrow struck Aclan in the back but his White Lion cloak blunted the missile's impact. Weilstadt looked to the group's right to see a man in a trench coat and wide-brimmed hat haul himself up from the side of the bridge with one arm as he tucked a smoking pistol into a bandoleer with the other. Beside him, a bald woman covered in Sigmarite tattoos had already levered herself onto the bridge. She charged, a flail whipping about in her hands.

"I AM THE COMET! I BURN THE IMPURE!" The zealot screeched. Weil was forced to block her flail with his crossbow, which was ripped from his hands as the woman plowed into him, her momentum carrying them both to the opposite railing. Weilstadt was sent over the rail, but grabbed the flagellant's ragged robes in a death grip and pulled her down after him. The world spun as he fell and landed hard.

* * *

The silver bullet in her side burned unlike anything Isabel had ever felt. The bullet had struck her armpit where her jack of plates didn't cover. As the Witch Hunter's boots hit the ground and Weilstadt was carried away by the stocky fanatic, Isabel dug her claws into her own flesh and ripped the bullet out, allowing the agony to feed her vampiric fury. She had freshly fed. This Hunter was in for a fell surprise.

"I am sorry to see one of the noble Montes reduced to this", the Witch Hunter lamented as he drew a one-handed axe. The weapon was covered in embossings of comet imagery. "I am Brother Ursel Krantz, and in Sigmar's name, I shall grant you rest, my lady."

"I'm trying to cure myself, you imbecile!" Isabel spat. How had he found her? Was she truly beginning to be so reckless like a common bloodsucker?

The two circled each other. Isabel's wound closed now that the bullet was dislodged, allowing her to draw her rapier. She saw Aclan was gone, off hunting the unseen archer that had shot him.

"You are delusional", Krantz retorted at once. "Even if such a cure existed, it would not cleanse the black mark from your soul. You know this to be true."

"You know nothing!" Isabel accused. She closed with Krantz in a flash, her rapier crackling with lightning as she struck out at the Witch Hunter.

Krantz, somehow, kept up with her. His axe was an impenetrable shield. Sparks flared when the two weapons clashed together. Isabel was tireless, though, and Krantz was not. She merely needed to wear him down before delivering the killing stroke.

As vampire and Witch Hunter danced up and down the length of the bridge, Krantz began a quiet prayer. The power of his faith became manifest in a halo of white flame that slowly materialized around his axe. It did not make him strike with any more strength or swiftness. Isabel wondered why he would waste his energy…

"Become the Hammer!" Krantz bellowed, sweeping his axe before him. The white flame swept out and singed Isabel, forcing her to recoil. It was not a grievous injury, but it stole her attention for just long enough as Krantz reached under his coat, produced a glass flask which he uncorked, and swept the container before him just as he did his axe. The holy water within splashed upon Isabel and immediately started to smoke. The vampire's cries were earsplitting. Even under her armor she could feel her skin bubbling and sloughing where the holy water landed. How foolish was she to have forgotten the very methods she herself once used?

Krantz advanced to deliver the killing blow upon the doubled over, apparently disabled vampire. Isabel was not finished yet. With a sideways flick of the wrist she threw her rapier like a dart. Krantz let out a sharp breath and tried to dodge, but the thin blade pierced Krantz's coat and skewered through his right hip. Krantz's teeth came together against the pain but he was not deterred for long. It was long enough for Isabel to rip her jack of plates from her body, freeing her from the torturous embrace of the holy water soaked armor.

The two opponents glared at each other. Isabel's fingernails once more grew into talons. Krantz pulled the rapier from his body with barely a sound of distress, tossing the sword over the railing of the bridge.

"And so, like any beast, you will fight me with your claws and you fangs", Krantz chastised, looking at his foe with more pity than anything else. "How far the mighty House of Monte has fallen."

"It's not done yet." Isabel seethed. "Walk away and give me a chance to end this affliction; I'll show you how far we are from fallen!"

"It is too late for that. Your very existence has become a crime", Krantz said, falling into a combat stance. "The sentence is death."

* * *

Piotr jumped from his rooftop to the one beside it. Such maneuvers were ill-advised in the rickety remnants of the City of the Damned, but the archer had to keep the advantage of elevation. The Kislevite had tested his aim against countless foes, both as a kossar in the service of the Tsar and as one of Brother Krantz's henchmen. This was the first time he had ever faced an elf. It was clear from the outset that this knife-ear knew a thing or two about the hunt.

Slowing down in the roofless shell of an attic, Piotr nocked his current arrow upon his longbow and slowly crept toward a large hole that had rotted through the wood of the west wall. He looked out, faced immediately with the pile of rotting wreckage that had once been another house. The two blockhouses on either side of it were partially fallen in without the support of their neighbor.

By Piotr's estimate of his enemy's last position, the elf should be…

The moment Piotr saw movement, he let his arrow fly. The elf ran right into the projectile's path, but that damned cloak stopped it. Piotr was already getting ready to fire another shot as the elf finally spotted him and motioned to do the same. The archers shot at each other at the same moment, the arrows coming within inches of each other in their flight. Piotr didn't see if his arrow had struck its target. Piotr threw himself back, feeling the elf's arrow catch the hem of the Kislevite's hood and take it off his head. No actual damage was done, though, so when Piotr hit the ground, the only injury he sustained was a bruise to his lower back from landing on a fallen chunk of timber. The floor creaked and shifted dangerously under Piotr after he fell, sagging where he put his weight.

"_Blyat_", Piotr cursed against the pain. It was much better than an arrow in the face, though.

Piotr didn't have any new rooftops to jump to from this one, so he was about to descend the steep stairs from the attack when he heard the unmistakable sound of someone walking through the house about two floors beneath him. So, the elf was coming his way. Laughable. Piotr drew his hunting knife and planted it in the decaying wood by his feet, then drew an arrow and waited. The moment the elf showed his face up the stairs would also be his last moment in the land of the living.

The elf's footsteps drew closer. He was on the floor directly below, moving carefully but not stealthily. Piotr's heart beat quickly. Playing the prey was not a strategy he often used, but needs must.

The elf stopped.

Piotr held his breath.

The floor beneath the Kislevite lurched violently. Piotr fell backward, dropping his arrow. Before he could recover, something shook the floor again. Wood splintered and broke. A moment later, Piotr's entire world became a confusing blur as the floor gave out beneath him and he fell down to the next level.

The wind was knocked out of Piotr as he gathered his senses. He felt several splinters of varying size sticking in his back. Above him was the hole he'd just fallen through. Closer, and much more pressing, was the tall, angry elf that was looming over him with a giant axe in his hands. An arrow was sticking out of his breastplate; the bodkin arrowhead had done its job, just not well enough, apparently.

"Fuck...you...knife-ear…", Piotr cursed.

The elf just rolled his eyes, "you dustlings need a new insult."

The axe rose and fell.

* * *

Weilstadt had not blacked out from the fall, but his bell was certainly rung. The Sewer Jack's senses started to clear and he realized that he was in a lot of pain. The canal was empty, and the layer of silty sand that was leftover in the water's wake was probably the only thing that had kept him from getting pulverized by the fall.

"That's going to hurt in the morning", Weil rasped. Then he remembered why he fell in the first place and quickly scrambled to his feet as quickly as his bruised body would allow. Just a few feet away, the flagellant Weil had dragged down after him was doing the same thing. There was a raging fire in her eyes as she dragged her flail to her through the silt and lifted it.

Weilstadt drew his swords. Above their heads, the sound of Isabel and the Witch Hunter clashing could be heard.

"This is a misunderstanding…", Weil started to say.

"Silence, heretic!" The flagellant demanded, once more charging at Weilstadt.

The flail completely whiffed; the zealot was not fighting with much technique and Weil was easily able to dodge. However, she fought with absolutely unbridled ferocity. She did not stay still long enough for Weil to deliver a disabling or killing blow. As the two of them began trading blows and jockeying for position, Weil was dismayed to see that the minor wounds he managed to score did not even faze the zealot. If anything, each drop of blood that was drawn from her skin served only to heighten her state of rapturous fury.

That flail was another problem. The spiked ball was a fell pendulum the rended through the air on the end of its chain, the strongly built flagellant putting all her muscle behind every attack. Weilstadt was forced to do a lot of dancing around, unable to risk blocking for fear of getting one of his swords wrapped up by the chain.

"We don't need to be enemies!" Weilstadt cried as he skidded away from yet another attack that would have turned his ribs into soup.

"You willfully serve a vampire!" The flagellant snapped, baring her teeth as she jumped up and brought her flail down.

The head of the flail _thudded _into the soil as Weil moved. With his left hand, he managed to draw a crimson line down the length of the zealot's forearm with _Windsong_.

"Aye, but...alright, can't argue that, really…", Weil trailed off.

The flagellant whipped her flail before her, twisting with it and using her momentum to take a bold step forward inside Weil's guard. She slammed her elbow into Weil's breastplate, which didn't hurt but put him on his back foot. The flail came in low, the chain wrapping around the Sewer Jack's left ankle. The foot was pulled out from under Weil and he ended up falling flat on his back, the flesh of that ankle getting shredded by the flail's spikes. Weil crossed his swords to block the zealot's next attack as she stood over him and tried to crush his skull. As predicted, the swords got wrapped up and ripped from his hands.

Weil drew one of his long bladed daggers before the flagellant could free the swords from the grip of her flail. He stabbed it sideways into his enemy's right calf and roughly tore the blade free. Sigmar himself must have been with this woman, for even though the leg gave out beneath her, she did not cry out in pain. Weilstadt seized both the moment and his second dagger, scrabbling through the silt to pin the zealot down. He jabbed downward, stabbing the flagellant through her chainmail several times, hacking at her hands and arms when she tried to raise them to ward off the assault.

After much too long, Weil's opponent could no longer lift her arms. They fell to her sides as blood dribbling from countless wounds slowly started turning the silt around her into disgusting, pasty mud.

"For...the...Helden...hammer…", were the flagellant's last words. Her eyes, still open, went sightless and glassy.

Weilstadt, kneeling over his victim, let out a rough breath. He wanted to recover but there was no time to lose. The Sewer Jack closed the flagellant's eyes and got to his feet, limping badly as he reclaimed his swords. As for a way up, he'd be screwed by himself in this city with a bum leg. Weil would just have to wait for Aclan or Isabel to help him...or for the Witch Hunter to gun him down from above.

* * *

Isabel was tireless, supernaturally strong, and exceptionally swift even without feeding. Having recently fed, her strength and speed were even greater, and she could heal her wounds using the life essence of the blood she had consumed. This had been enough for all the foes she had encountered so far as a vampire. When she had been defeated by Carmina at the Gala, Isabel had not fed recently. That had been against a fellow vampire. This mortal should have been nothing.

Yet, here Isabel was, her claws managing to do little more than tear up Krantz's already ragged coat as the Witch Hunter once again avoided her attacks. He parried her hand with his silver axe and the metal seared her. Isabel had only the last dregs of power remaining from her recent meal, having spent most of it on healing herself. Though Krantz was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, his resolve did not waver, nor did his body. Freely bleeding claw marks upon his back and the rapier wound were the only injuries Isabel had been able to inflict.

Once again the two combatants paused and took each other's measure. The bridge would be the death of one of them.

"Make this easy for yourself", Krantz bade her, somehow still not angry. "Stand down. I will grant you swift destruction and your corpse the purification of the pyre."

"Never", Isabel defied him.

Isabel called upon her last reserves of essence, springing into the air, flipping and twisting in a final gambit. Her intent was to surprise her foe with the sudden move and land behind Krantz before the Witch Hunter could turn to face her, and it looked like she had managed exactly that. Isabel landed with her left arm already prepared to deliver the slash that would tear Krantz's head apart.

A gun fired. Krantz's coat twitched as he fired directly behind himself, through his coat, without looking. The silver bullet had no jack of plates to get through, only a padded arming shirt, and burrowed deep into Isabel's stomach and ripped out of her back. The vampiress's keening cry likely echoed across a good portion of Mordheim. Her strength spent, Isabel collapsed backward onto the bridge. She curled up in a writhing ball.

Krantz holstered his smoking pistol, turning around and looking down upon his defeated foe. "I believe that you believe you were trying to cure yourself; redeem yourself somehow in Sigmar's eyes. For that, you have my apologies that I must do this, Lady Isabel."

In a last ditch effort, Isabel reached out with her vampiric magic, trying to burrow into Krantz's mind and stay his hand. She may as well have tried to do so to a brick wall. Unlike her "sister", Carmina, Isabel had focused almost entirely on the physical side of her vampiric powers, only dabbling in what measures were necessary to hide her true nature in public. However, even as she was rebuffed from the mind of the Witch Hunter, Isabel noticed something. Renewed anger gave her clarity of mind against the pain.

Krantz was raising his axe. "My mind is a fortress guarded by faith."

Isabel only had one shot.

"Funny you already let another vampire into it", Isabel's wretched voice taunted. "Carmina has you utterly fooled!"

Krantz twitched, his weapon pausing. "How do you know her name? Answer me!"

Isabel laughed; a desperate, half-mad sound. "You truly are pathetic. Carmina and I share a sire. Malfalto, a vampire from Luccini, turned both of us barely a month apart. It was Carmina's disappearance that tipped me off to Malfalto", another bitter chuckle, "imagine my surprise when she went to him willingly and used herself as bait for the trap that ended with me joining her in undeath."

The Witch Hunter shook his head slightly. "Malfalto…" He repeated the name as if it was familiar to him.

"Carmina had you kill him, didn't she? A vampire can't strike their sire directly so she had her loyal dog do it", Carmina let out a ragged, tearing cough. "Now she has sent you to kill the last people in the world who know of her true nature."

"No...no, you're lying", Krantz insisted, his grip tightening on his axe. "You must have...have lifted these things from my mind. You are trying to turn me against her."

"I thought your mind was guarded by faith? Your faith must not be very strong, then", Isabel needled, sowing as much doubt as possible. "Carmina and I have the same weaknesses. Go ahead. Offer her some silver next time you see her. Ask her about her past."

Krantz's hands shook. Isabel had just destabilized something that was at the very foundation of the Witch Hunter's psyche, apparently. Even through her agony, she could feel some sympathy for the act. Clearly whatever relationship Krantz had with Carmina meant a great deal to him. It was too bad that it was founded upon deception.

"You have...given me a great deal to think about", Krantz admitted softly. His axe raised again, "but it changes nothing about your fate."

The Witch Hunter barked in surprise and pain as an arrow struck him in the shoulder blade of his axe arm. Krantz dropped the weapon, spinning around to find the threat only to received an arrow in the chest.

Aclan was jogging down the street, approaching the bridge, placing another arrow on the string of his longbow. When Krantz did not yet fall, instead tried to reach for another weapon under his coat, Aclan let fly the third arrow that struck Krantz in the breastbone. It was enough to finally put the Witch Hunter down.

"Car...mi...na…", Krantz gurgled as the arrow in his heart swiftly took his life.

Aclan hurried up. A broken arrow shaft stuck out from his breastplate. "My lady, are you alright?"

"I encourage you to take a guess, Herr Aclan", Isabel snipped.

"Right." Aclan said. "Volker? Where are you?"

"Ac?" Weilstadt's voice echoed up from the canal below. "Down here. Sure could use a rope. Wouldn't mind a spare leg if you've got one."

The elf sighed, sounding tired. "Asuryan grant me strength. Or perhaps a swift death would be better at this point." He set about helping Weil and then Isabel.

The journey out of Mordheim was much slower than the trip in.

* * *

Carmina had a connection to Krantz. This wasn't in the figurative sense. Quite literally, she and carefully laid a magical thread between herself and the Witch Hunter. There were times when she couldn't sense his exact location due to high amounts of wyrdstone or magical occurrences, but she could always sense him to some extent. The vampiress was surprised, then, to feel that thread break, shrivel, and disappear.

Carmina stopped on the busy sidewalk that she was currently strolling through. Unfortunately, her connection to Isabel was much weaker. If Carmina risk trying to see if Isabel was still "alive", then she ran the risk of revealing her position to her brood sister. With her best weapon against the daughter of House Monte gone, now was not the time for such things. Whether or not Isabel had fallen, Herr Weilstadt and Aclan had certainly helped in slaying Krantz. That made Carmina's current destination all the more justified.

It was frustrating that Krantz was dead, but Carmina didn't feel any sadness over it. The Witch Hunter had been a useful tool and an enthusiastic lover, but there were plenty of people out there. She'd begin her search for another pet after this diversion.

A noble estate loomed before her, its front gate guarded by two men in green and violet livery. To them, Carmina was a delicate, fair-skinned woman in a Bretonnian dress, hiding from the sun's cruel rays beneath a lacy parasol. She smiled sweetly at the guards as she approached the gate. No magic beyond her glamours was even necessary for these rubes.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen", Carmina greeted the guards in a voice she had not used since her time in the Border Princes.

"Afternoon, my lady", one of the guards said. "Can we help you with something?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, sir", Carmina said. "My name is Lady Francine d'Val Savroix", she looked up and past the guards, to the manor house beyond them, "I was hoping to have a word with Baron von Bauman."

* * *

_I have never had to return to Mordheim. For that, I am unbelievably grateful. For however briefly I was there, I still see that damned place in my darkest dreams. _

_We returned to Altdorf as quickly as we could. Lady Isabel parted ways with us, citing that she needed to prepare some things for her ritual, as well as waiting for the stars to properly align in about a month so she might be able to enact said ritual with maximum (relative) ease. Lady Isabel did, however, leave us information on where we might find her should Carmina decide to follow up Brother Krantz's failure with a personal visit. She also, of course, paid us for the agreed service we had rendered to her._

_All in all, Aclan and I allowed ourselves to believe we could enjoy a bit of respite. As the next volume of this chronicle will tell you, we were going to have to wait a bit longer for that._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 7: Silver, Gold, and Other False Gods"_


	11. The Cure for What Ails You

_Our returns to Altdorf were usually moments when we could take a breather and rest on our laurels for a bit. That was what I intended to do. Naturally, I also intended to keep my promise to visit Lady Karolina von Bauman at least once while in the Empire's capital. It was hard to believe that close to three years had passed since I had first encountered her in the basement of House von Bauman, surrounded by skaven corpses, still reeling from the discovery that the man I knew as Dieter was actually Aclan, an elf._

_I was hoping for a pleasant visit with Karolina, usually jaunt to one tavern or another to have drinks and discuss what had gone on in our lives since the last time we'd gotten together. Instead, I received another job, probably the most important one I'd worked in my life yet._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 8: Midnight's Last Light"_

* * *

Weilstadt felt sluggish and tired. He'd not only indulged heavily in the drink the night before, but also in breakfast this morning. The Sewer Jack had consumed so many biscuits and so much bacon that he was fairly certain a pig farm was slowly being established inside his stomach.

Aclan was currently at the Elven Embassy in Altdorf, sending letters back home to Ulthuan to both Lady Inryla and, apparently, the elven woman that had knitted his scarf, Gweyir. Ac's deathly glare had stopped Weil from cracking any jokes on the matter of Aclan's love life.

With a free day to himself, Weil figured it would be a good time to pay a visit to House von Bauman and catch up with Karolina. He smiled to himself at the thought of seeing her again. It had been too long, and Weilstadt had found himself missing her company, especially in the bleak, terrible streets of Mordheim. This was the closest thing Weilstadt had to coming home, pathetic as that might have been.

Whatever the case, Weil once more found himself approaching the front gates of House von Bauman. He recognized the two guards that were stationed just inside the gate and greeted them by name.

"Pascal. Soren. Looking good, my friends", Weil enthused as he approached.

The two guards perked up slightly. Their usual mirth and banter did not materialize. In fact, they looked downright sullen.

"Herr Weilstadt", Pascal greeted. "Come to visit Her Ladyship?"

"Aye", Weil confirmed, stopping just inside the gate as the two men opened the way for him. "What's wrong? You two lose a bet?"

"If only", Pascal sighed. "Go on inside. Lady Karolina will probably be upstairs in His Lordship's study. She'll tell you everything."

That wasn't good. Now concerned, Weilstadt headed up the front walk of the manor. He crossed through the foyer with quick greetings to the servants that he passed by. Before long, Weilstadt was passing into Baron Bruno von Bauman's book-lined study; the very place he and Aclan had taken their first job as adventurers. It was mostly as Weil remembered it, The fireplace that had been cold back then was currently popping and crackling to ward away the chill of fall's final days. The oaken dry bar was currently open, its many bottles only half-full and no longer kept in the strict organization the Baron had placed them in.

Sitting in von Bauman's chair was none other than Lady Karolina. She was not the rakish, smiling tomboy that Weilstadt had come to know. Karolina looked exhausted. There were slight bags under her eyes and her bobbed, platinum blonde hair was somewhat disheveled. There were no stains on the frilled shirt she wore, but it was a little rumpled. Her quill scratched upon parchment, plodding and mechanical, as if she was staring straight through the desk to the floor below and not even seeing what she was writing.

"It's not yet lunch time. I asked not to be disturbed until then", Karolina monotoned without looking up.

Weil closed the door behind him, saying, "I hope you weren't expecting me to cook for you. Not good for one's health, that."

Karolina's gaze slowly lifted. "Weil." She breathed, rising out of her chair.

"Aye, lass, the one and onl-oof!" Weilstadt started to reply. Karolina had already crossed the room and thrown her arms around Weil, crushing him into a bear hug and burying her head into his chest. Unsure of what else to do, Weil wrapped her in a hug. "...Lina? What's wrong?"

Karolina looked up at him with eyes that were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Her face was dangerously close to Weil's. The seriousness in the Lady von Bauman's expression was enough for Weilstadt to bypass _those _feelings and focus on the issue at hand. She was a noblewoman. Weil was a landless vagabond with a criminal history. It wasn't exactly high science to see how foolish such an idea was, no matter how Weilstadt might feel.

"It's father." Karolina said quietly. "He's fallen ill. Gravely ill."

"The Baron? When? How?" Weilstadt was shocked. Baron Bruno was not a young man by any means, but he wasn't yet in his sixties. What's more, he was quite hale and hearty. That he would be stricken down by sickness so badly outside of a time of plague was not something Weil would have expected. Then again, that was the nature of illness, wasn't it?

"He started showing symptoms about three weeks past. He's been bedridden for a week now. I've been forced to take on more and more of his duties as he...declines", Karolina explained like she still couldn't believe it either. "We must have tried every doctor in Altdorf but none of their curatives or elixirs have done anything. Priests of Sigmar and Shallya failed, as well. It's a sickness unlike anything any of them have seen. Why it would affect him..."

Alarm bells immediately began ringing in Weilstadt's mind. He placed his hands on Karolina's shoulders and held her at arm's length. "Lina, I've got you. I'm here to help however I can, alright? Are you with me?"

Karolina was already not someone given to hysterics. She breathed in through her nose and exhaled toward the floor through her mouth. "I'm with you, Weil, but you'll forgive me if I don't know how you'll be able to help with this."

"Has your father gone anywhere strange by himself? Entertained anyone new here at the manor?" Weilstadt asked, fully understanding her doubt. He himself couldn't do anything about a sickness. However, if Weil's paranoia was correct, then perhaps an alternative solution could be found somewhere in Altdorf's less than legal underground; familiar territory for the Sewer Jack.

"A few new people, I guess. There was the new Burghermeister of Licthzeichen, some Bretonnian woman come to talk trade, the Baron of Mannserdreich…"

"Bretonnian woman?" Weil asked.

"Yes. Father barely mentioned it in passing. Seems she knew next to nothing. Father just grumbled about a waste of time and let it go", Karolina explained. "Why are you fixated on that?"

"Why would a Bretonnian noblewoman come all the way to Altdorf to talk trade? They're supposed to be seen and not heard, pretty little trophies in the castles of their fathers or husbands", Weilstadt let Karolina go, feeling he was onto a thread here. "Do you remember her name?"

Karolina shook her head, "like I said, Father only brought it up the one time. I suppose she would have had to introduce herself at the front gate."

"Get Pascal up here at once", Weilstadt said.

Karolina was looking like she was starting to get irked, but she did as he suggested. The gate guard looked a little afraid, like he might be in trouble. He stood inside the door of the study, nervously wringing his hands on the haft of his spear.

"Be at ease, Pascal. Weil just has a couple of questions", Karolina assured him.

"Yes, milady." The guard said, looking to Weilstadt.

"You remember letting a Bretonnian woman into the estate?" Weil asked him.

Pascal nodded, "certainly do, sir. Kind of hard to forget; not exactly a common sight."

"Did she give you a name?" Weilstadt inquired further.

"Sure did, sir. It was...ahm…", Pascal scratched his head. "Val something. Val Savy?"

"Val Savroix", Weilstadt corrected him, his heart seizing in his chest. "Francine d'Val Savroix."

"Ah, yeah, that's the one", Pascal said with a smile, but it quickly turned to a frown. "Is...something wrong?"

"You're dismissed, Pascal. Return to your post", Karolina ordered.

The guard made his exit, leaving Karolina and Weilstadt alone once more. Weilstadt had told Karolina of Francine's status as a vampire at the Goldgather's End Gala. The Lady von Bauman began pacing.

"I knew it. I should have told him all the details about the Gala. I didn't want him to worry or get in trouble so I didn't tell Father everything, just about the ghouls", Karolina rattled off, running her fingers through her hair. "And for that, he didn't know she was a threat. She didn't bite him or he would have become a vampire by now", her hands clenched, "Shallya's mercy, what did that bitch do to him?"

"I don't know, Lina", Weilstadt confessed, "but…"

"But what?! Have you become some kind of sage in your travels, smarter than all the useless doctors in this city? Are you swooping in to solve all the damsel's problems where even the gods can't help?" Karolina snapped.

Weilstadt's expression hardened as the words stung him, but he did not retort in kind. Bruno was all the family Karolina had left. She was stressed from having to watch him slowly die and from having to take on the burden of running House von Bauman's affairs. Weil knew how it felt to be helpless. Thus, he swallowed his pride. If she persisted, he could always just leave to go get Isabel and be done with it.

Karolina's hands dropped to her sides. She stopped pacing beside the wall, leaning back against the bookcase there and looking ashamed. "I...I didn't mean that, Weil. I'm sorry."

Karolina was already chastising herself far worse than Weil ever could, no doubt. So, the Sewer Jack just looked across the room and said, "I'm getting a whisky."

The noblewoman nodded.

"You want one?"

She nodded again, sliding down to the floor.

"I'll make it a double." Weil walked over to the dry bar and poured the drinks. He came back to Karolina and handed her one of the glasses.

Karolina accepted the glass with both hands. She stared at the fireplace across from her.

Weilstadt took a spot beside the Lady von Bauman, sipping from his glass, then saying, "I myself don't know anything. But, I know someone who I think can help. You recall Lady Isabel Monte?"

"Yes", Karolina confirmed quietly.

"She's...well, knowledgeable about these kinds of things", Weilstadt decided it would be best for Isabel herself to make the call whether or not to reveal her own vampirism. Karolina had not been in the ballroom to see Isabel battle Carmina. "Knowledgeable in a way that no doctor or priest would be. She's been travelling with Aclan and I for a while now."

Surprisingly, Karolina let out a reluctant laugh. "In a ballroom full of noblemen and of course Sir Volker Weilstadt, the valiant knight of the sewers, is the one to capture her attention."

"Oh, right, you got me", Weil scoffed. "Either way, I can contact her and have her come look at your father. She and the woman you know as Lady Francine d'Val Savroix have a history. That's all I can reveal for now. Lady Isabel will have to tell you the rest."

"If you think she can help, I trust your judgement." Karolina said. She ran a finger along the rim of her whisky glass.

There was silence between them for a few minutes. The crackling fire filled the gap.

"You're the only person in the world willing to help and I snapped at you like some churlish ponce." Karolina shook her head as she spoke.

"Not the only person", Weil assured her. "Ac will be more than happy to help. Lady Isabel, too."

"Well, you're the one sitting here beside me, so you're the one I'm offering my apology to", the Lady von Bauman said.

Weil held his glass toward her, "accepted, or may Ranald's luck fail me as my enemies grow watchul."

"Quite the oath", Karolina commented, clicking her glass against Weil's.

Both drained their whisky in one go.

"I know I can speak for father's sake when I say you'll be richly rewarded for this", Karolina tacked on somewhat awkwardly. "I know you're taking a big risk on my behalf."

"Lina, I'm here for _you_ right now", Weilstadt declared. "A reward's further from my mind than a stint in a monastery."

Karolina's cheeks grew red in the firelight. "You…", she cleared her throat, "...that is, you would make for a terrible monk. Alright. If you tell me where Aclan is, I can go obtain him while you contact Lady Isabel."

"Sounds like a plan. You'll find him at the Elven Embassy. If it's you, he'll drop what he's doing", Weilstadt agreed to the course.

Noblewoman and Sewer Jack exited the manor, passing by Pascal and Soren as they hit the street and made to go opposite directions into the crowded metropolis of Altdorf.

"Weil...one last thing…", Karolina began as the gate closed behind them.

"Aye?" Weil asked.

"If Father…", the Lady von Bauman stopped, "...no matter how this turns out...I'll be hunting 'Lady Francine' down."

Weilstadt predicted Karolina's next words. "You won't be doing it alone. Count on that."

Karolina's eyes grew flinty and she nodded with grim resolution.

They went on their separate ways.

* * *

Carmina had done away with her Bretonnian court garb, this time for good. Francine had been a good persona, but after what she had done in the Border Princes, the Goldgather's End Gala, and House von Bauman, it was time to move on to greener pastures.

The vampiress strolled confidently through Butcher's Block, a district named not for any abundance of meatmongers, but for the fact that so many mangled bodies showed up in the gutters and the alleys. Gangs were in control of this territory, a score of smaller outfits all vying to come out on top and none ever succeeding.

Carmina knew she was drawing eyes as she walked along the street, the flat soles of her mid-thigh boots falling in steps that were measured in their confidence. Carmina used a glamour to appear more tanned than she usually did, her usually flaxen hair now a curly cascade of black ringlets. Between her bright doublet and the rapier and main gauche she wore at her sides, Carmina looked every bit like an Estallian diestro almost asking for someone to take issue with her for one reason or another. There were countless tales of diestros inventing perceived slights in order to initiate a duel to test their skills.

None of the pathetic gangers tried anything. They peered out of alleys and doorways. They eyed her up as they passed in small groups in the streets. A fight would be good for this disgusting neighborhood. Carmina could just throw a man through one wall and the entire shoddy shithole would come crashing down. Nothing of value would be lost. Sadly, Carmina had something she needed to accomplish in these plebeian confines. Someone looking like her did not belong here. This was a forgotten back corner of Altdorf that the Watch never touched.

The bells on the door of a little alchemy shop jangled as Carmina pushed into the building. Her first instinct was to find the owner and murder them for daring to call this hovel an alchemy shop. The swill she saw on the sagging, splintered shelves would no doubt kill whoever drank them. That is, if they were lucky.

"One moment, with ya, with ya…", a voice said from the rickety stairs behind the shop's counter. A fat woman with a peg leg hobbled her way down to the ground floor. Her dress of thick homespun was grubby and heavily stained. A yellowing bandanna that had likely once been white kept stringy hair from the alchemist's face. Greta, as she was apparently called, was apparently what passed for skilled among the back alley alchemists of Altdorf. Carmina shivered to think what butchery of the art those less "skilled" than Greta produced.

"Ah, how can old Greta help ya, young miss?" The aging alchemist asked with a crooked smile.

Carmina pushed down her revulsion. Speaking Reikspiel only lightly accented with Estalian, Carmina said, "I am looking for someone. It's my understanding you know them."

"Old Greta knows a lot of someones, miss", the crone winked and cackled, thumping the counter with her hands.

With an icy smile, Carmina said, "ah. Then you likely know the one they call the Red Saber."

Greta's mirth was gone in an instant, replaced by wariness.

"Iffin' you know that name, miss, then you likely know it's one you aught not be throwin' 'round", the alchemist said.

"I don't give a damn", Carmina said plainly. "Now, you'll tell me, or I'll be telling the nearest Witch Hunter where they can find a mutant."

Greta gasped and swore under her breath, tugging at the already neck high collar of her dress. According to Carmina's source, Greta's back was covered in patches of reptilian scales. Whichever source originally learned this, Carmina pitied them so. The vampiress could have just magically charmed the information out of them, but doing that for everything just got so...boring.

"If...iffin' I tell you, you can't tell them I did. Please, ma'am", Greta begged. "I's sworn to secrecy, you hear? That's the only way I get my good stock and can pay…"

"I recall saying something about not giving a damn", Carmina snipped, drumming the hilt of her rapier for effect. "Red Saber. Now."

On the verge of tears, Greta revealed what Carmina wanted to know.

Carmina walked out of Greta's shop, not caring who saw her wiping blood from her rapier with a scrap she had cut from the alchemist's dress. Carmina would never be back here, and who would risk sticking their neck out to tell on someone for putting one mutated back alley alchemist out of their misery?

The pieces were falling into place. If all of them did, this would end up being a most satisfying production. If not...well, the journey could be just as fun as the destination sometimes, couldn't it?

* * *

Isabel had been surprisingly up front with Karolina in regards to the Lady Monte's vampiric status. With Weil and Ac there to vouch for the vampiress, however, Karolina's initial (and completely sensible) suspicions were eased. Finally, after that was settled, Karolina led the trio to Bruno's room.

Isabel looked as she usually did when adventuring, though without her jack of plate, opting instead for a thick woolen coat. The vampiress seemed a bit distracted, maybe tired? Weil wasn't sure if vampires could get tired in the traditional sense.

Baron von Bauman was a truly sad sight, especially considering how vibrant he had been when Weil had last seen him. The jovial man had been reduced to a perspiring, murmuring mess. Bruno's eyes were sunken, his skin sallow and jaundiced. The Baron had visibly lost weight. He lay on his back in a four poster bed in an opulently appointed master bedroom, a single liveried servant standing sentinel over the ailing master of the house.

"You may leave for a bit, Herschel", Karolina told the servant, who excused himself with a bow.

Once Herschel was gone, Isabel approached the inert Baron. She set a small leather bag, like what a physician would carry their tools in, upon the bed. "Lady Karolina, there are many things I might inspect to see if this is a vampire's work, but if I know Carmina, there is only one test I need to run. With your permission, I will need to take a small sample of your father's blood."

"Do whatever you must, Lady Isabel", Karolina gave her permission.

Isabel nodded. She produced a surgeon's knife, a corked vial of clear liquid, and a little stick with a nub of cotton on the end. With practiced efficiency, Isabel nicked a superficial slice from the meat of Baron von Bauman's left forearm, ran the cotton swab through the blood that welled up, then uncorked the vial and started stirring the liquid within with the swab. Then, she stopped and waited.

"What are you doing?" Karolina inquired.

"Seeing if this reagent will react to your father's blood", Isabel explained, pulling the swab from the vial, dropping it into her bag, then putting the cork back into the vial and watching it. "It might take a few minutes. If the color or consistency changes, it might tell me what Carmina used to poison your father."

"Why would she do that?" Karolina seethed. She started pacing at the foot of the bed, casting worried looks toward her father.

"Carmina is a fiend. She sows death and sorrow in her wake because she knows she can do it and get away with it", Isabel answered, pursing her lips and staring intently at the liquid in the vial, watching the tendrils of blood swirl and dance within. "But she's smart. Too smart. This could have been an attempt to draw me out."

"She poisoned _my _father to draw _you _out?" Karolina repeated with open scepticism.

Isabel shrugged one shoulder, "I am here, am I not?"

"...point taken", Carmina granted.

"She likely knew Herr Weilstadt would find out about Baron Bruno's illness, find out that Carmina visited in a recent enough span to be the probable cause, and send for me for help", Isabel elaborated as the vial started becoming murky. "These are the sorts of schemes that Carmina so enjoys. It was a trait our sire loved to stoke in her."

"What's happening?" Aclan pointed to the vial.

"Results", Isabel said, pursing her lips as the clear liquid turned green and syrupy. "...unfortunate results", the vampiress puffed out a long breath, "damn it. So my sire's legacy lives on."

Before anyone could ask, Isabel held out the vial, "this means Baron Bruno has been poisoned by a very specific concoction. It was created by Malfalto, the vampire that sired both Carmina and I scarce months apart. Looking for a missing noblewoman, Carmina herself, was what drew me into the trap in the first place. Imagine my surprise when she had gone willingly and was all too eager to prove her loyalty by bringing down a scion of the Monte family", Isabel briefly tangented, "but, I digress. Malfalto was an alchemist, first and foremost. He spent days, weeks in his lab, trusting Carmina and I to bring him his...meals when we were 'young', too weak in our powers to resist his compulsions. This poison is something he called 'Inglorious Repose.'"

"Don't suppose it's got an antidote?" Weisltadt asked the obvious question.

"Indeed", Isabel said, but not with hope. "It is simple to make, but it requires one ingredient that is almost unheard of in the Empire; the petals of a fire lily. The name comes from its bright petals that gradient from orange at their base to yellow and red at the tips. It's a plant that can only be found in swampy lowlands in far Cathay and the island nation of Nippon."

That last statement hung over the room with gut wrenching finality.

Karolina went to the window, looking out over the estate. Her shoulders slumped down.

"Take heart, though, Lady Karolina", Isabel insisted. "I meant 'almost' when I said it. It's easiest to acquire in Marienburg, but I know for a fact fire lily can be found here in Altdorf."

Karolina wheeled about at once, hope plain in her face. "How? Where?"

"The fire lily's pollen is an incredibly powerful psychotropic when inhaled through the nose. Solutions prepared from its roots are...put plainly, an aphrodisiac that is so powerful that it's the reason the fire lily is banned in the Empire." Isabel explained. "A disgraced Cathayan warlord is the center of the trade of fire lily here in Altdorf. Bao Sangzan. Malfalto purchased exotic ingredients from him quite frequently."

"Where can we find him", Karolina demanded more than asked.

Isabel held a hand up, "this is not a situation to barge into, Lady Karolina. Sangzan has a coterie of worthy warriors at his side, including a Nipponese ronin."

"A what?" Weil asked. That was a new one.

"Ronin", Aclan fielded the question from where he stood against the wall by the door. "In Nippon, the closest thing they have to knights are called samurai. A ronin is a samurai who serves no lord for one reason or another."

"Just so", Isabel confirmed. "Kakita Tane. Her skill with the sword is legendary in the Altdorf underground."

Weil crossed his arms, not liking the sound of that. Sangzan and Tane must have come onto the scene after he had joined the Sewer Watch or Weilstadt would have heard of them before.

"So what's your plan?" Karolina asked. "We need this stupid plant to save my father. I'll gather up every guard we can spare and burn these criminals out if I have to", her eyes burned.

"We approach as buyers." Isabel said calmly. "Sangzan is a businessman. There's no need to assume violence. Carmina still lives because I have failed to slay her. Thus, I will front the cost needed to purchase the fire lily required to save Baron Bruno's life."

That soothed Karolina's anger to a degree. "Still. Time is of the essence."

"I shall tell you how to find Sangzan and get what you need", Isabel assured the Lady von Bauman. "I shall remain here. When Herr Weilstadt told me of your father's symptoms and the fact that Carmina had been here, I knew at once what was wrong. I've brought some tinctures and other treatments that will strengthen Baron Bruno's body against the poison. Only the antidote will save him, but I shall give him as much time as I can."

"I am indebted to you, Lady Isabel. Forgive me for being out of sorts", Karolina said. She went to her father's side one last time.

"I know all too well the pain of losing family to the machinations of vampires", Isabel said in a low, distant voice. "Now, let us begin ensuring you don't have to find out how that feels. First, you'll need to speak to a friend of the Monte family in the Tanner's District…"

* * *

Unlike Marienburg, Altdorf didn't have a large enough Cathayan population to have a proper "Cathayan Quarter". River traffic brought all kinds of people from Marienburg, however, and Altdorf was home to people quite literally from all over the world.

Weilstadt, Aclan, and Karolina were making their way through the _Reineplatz _of Altdorf, through bustling markets and teeming crowds there. The countless stalls did not interest them, however. It was in this district that foreign merchants tended to congregate; Kislevites and Estalians, mostly, but there were others from such far places as the Kingdoms of Ind, Ulthuan, and even Albion. Weil knew smuggling and illicit goods trade ran rampant here, funneling obscene amounts of contraband into the hands of nobles and commoners alike. Amid the bright colors and alien scents, the determined trio pushed through, making their way to a particular building that sat along the edge of the plaza.

The Silk Fox provided what few brothels in Altdorf could provide; non-Imperial women. By that token alone it drew clients from all over the city. Weilstadt knew of the large bordello's darker side as well. Women seeking to escape trouble in their homelands were promised employment in Altdorf by travelling merchants that were sensitive to opportunity and blind to morality. Altogether too many of them were brought here, now far from home, bereft of money, and drowning in desperation. It could all be done without technically telling a lie.

That thought was fresh in Weilstadt's mind as he entered the Silk Fox, souring what would have otherwise been a pleasant sight. Human women of varied nationality languidly rested upon couches and cushions amid drapings of diaphanous silk that hung from the ceiling and drifting clouds of incense. An incredibly pale, blonde haired woman sat in the lap of an officer of the State Army, the woman's fake fur outfit barely resembling Kislevite style while also barely covering anything. A dark-skinned courtesan wearing what most Imperials would believe to be traditional garb from Ind poured tea for two wealthy burghers, bent at the waist to show off her gown's revealing neckline. Somewhere in the room, someone was slowly plucking at a twangy string instrument Weil had not heard before.

There was a low buzz of conversation. The other patrons were too wrapped up in their own leisure to pay attention to who had just entered.

"This can't really be the place…", Karolina said under her breath.

"We'll see…", Weilstadt replied as they were approached.

"I don't believe I've seen any of you in here before", a middle-aged woman said as she emerged from behind one of the silk drapings. Her attire was surprisingly austere, something one would expect to see on any well-to-do wife of a wealthy merchant or such like. That being said, her self-assured stride spoke of something else. Power, maybe? Or just certainty.

"Madam Demure, I presume", Weilstadt said.

The woman inclined her head, "correctly deduced, sir", she smiled, effervescent and even pleased, "we love seeing new faces come to our humble establishment. Please, tell me how the Silk Fox can help you forget your troubles", mirth trickled into her voice, "though it'll cost extra if you all three go at once", she daintily placed three fingers against her lips and laughed. Weilstadt had dealt with his fair share of disingenuous people, but even he couldn't tell if this was sincere or just an act. Madam Demure concluded with, "oh, and I'm afraid you'll have to check your weapons here at the door. For the safety of my girls, you understand."

Karolina got them on track, "we would like to see if what we've heard about your Lustrian girls is true." She spoke with barely moving lips for Madam Demure's ears only.

"Ah. Naturally", Madam Demure said, suddenly forgetting about the weapons. "Please, follow me."

The three followed after Madam Demure, heading for the back of the brothel.

"This is too easy", Aclan warned quietly.

"There's such a thing?" Weil asked him.

"As a member of the species most fond of taking the easy path, you should know that better than anyone", Aclan admonished.

"I haven't seen the Herr Sunshine persona in so long, so glad to have you back, mate", Weil chided.

"Volker…", Aclan growled.

"Just because we're being optimistic doesn't mean we're being careless, Ac", Weil got serious.

"Being careless will likely be the last thing we do. We're stepping into a world where none of us have much experience", the asur said, but let the point lie after that.

Madam Demure brought the three newcomers to a back storage room. She moved a jar upon a low shelf, reveal a keyhole in the wall. She put an iron key in the lock and turned it. Something in the wall clicked, and a section of it swung inward.

"They'll be waiting for you downstairs. I'll be closing the door behind you", Madam Demure said.

"Thank you", Karolina said.

Aclan led the way into the secret stairwell, followed by Weil, and then Karolina. At once, they were struck by a musty dampness that Weilstadt recognized all too well. Wherever they were going, it was connected to the upper levels of the sewers. Fetid water would evaporate in the tunnels and drift up through every crack and crevice it could, creating the unpleasant pall the trio were currently walking through. As they descended down a tight, spiralling stairwell that could be called illuminated in the same capacity that a skaven could be called brave, they were forced to slowly feel their way along. Eventually, light began to become noticeable, the cloying sweet smell of incense along with it. Strangely twangy string music drifted up to their ears.

When the trio reached the bottom of the stairs, it was as if they were entering a completely new world.

What had once been a sewer channel had been closed off on two sides. What filled the space in between the sealed barricades was a veritable village in Altdorf's underground. Tents were set up wherever there was room. Underneath canvas and cloth, Altdorf's wealthy sank into cushions in drug induced stupors. They were served mostly by Cathayan women in tightly form fitting dresses of silk that covered them completely from the upper thighs to their necks, but left most of their legs bare. Almost the entire ground was covered with thick rugs. Given that none of them were particularly sodden, it must have meant that this was either an exceptionally watertight space, or more likely, new rugs were filtered in.

Cathayan men in lamellar armor stood on guard along the walls and at the entrances of smaller tunnels that opened up here and there. Most were armed with straight-bladed swords not completely unlike Weil's spatha, though the blades were thinner.

"We stick out like sore thumbs", Aclan noted.

"We brought you with us, that was always going to happen", Weil pointed out.

"Hm. True", the elf granted.

"Well, then we don't have to be subtle searching for Bao, then", Karolina reasoned.

The Lady von Bauman led the way into the drug den. A lot of the substances being used here carried the death penalty for using due to their connections with Slaaneshi cults. Yet, one could just sink into a cushion and order them up like one would order a beer.

The three casual intruders picked their way through the tents, turning down several offers from smiling serving girls. Weilstadt felt the eyes of the guards following them. This could go very badly, very quickly. Hopefully, Herr Bao Sangzan really was a businessman like Isabel had suggested and would just fork over the fire lily when the money was presented.

They found Bao soon enough. He was short, as Cathayans seemed to tend toward being. His white hair and moustache were both incredibly long, drooping down to his waist. Bao was armored much like his guards were, not adorned with any of the finery Weil had expected a drug lord to wear. Bao was sitting beneath the largest tent in the drug den. It was more like a canvas pavilion with an actual tent attached to the back of it. The warlord was sitting at a small table, sipping tea from a porcelain cup when the trio approached him.

Beside him was a woman in crimson armor unlike anything Weil had ever seen. It was a lot like lamellar, and it might have just been a different kind, but regardless, it was imposing. The woman herself had features that were similar to the Cathayans around her, but subtly different in enough ways to mark her as carrying different blood. The female warrior was fairly young, her hair worn up in a topknot. Two curved blades were sheathed on her left hip, tucked into a sash. That must have been the Nipponese bodyguard, Kakita Tane.

"It isn't often that I get to see people who know they are out of their element, yet don't know _how _out of their element they really are", Bao Sangzan commented in a contemplative voice as they approached him. He looked up, revealing his face was so badly scarred along his left cheek that one could see glimpses of Bao's teeth and gums through tiny holes in the warlord's flesh. When he drank tea, he tilted his head to the right.

"Herr Sangzan", Karolina greeted him.

"Lord Bao, actually. Our surnames come first, and I am nobility. But I'll forgive you just this once", Bao said, smiling without humor.

"We're here to purchase fire lily petals. We'll take what you're willing to offer and be gone as soon as we have them", Karolina cut straight to the point.

Bao laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

"You think you can show up here without invitation and make demands of Lord Bao's time?" Tane challenged. "You're lucky you weren't killed when you entered."

"Tane makes quite the point, I'm afraid", Bao concurred. He set his teacup down.

"Time is of the essence. I am sorry that we violated your rules but I don't have any other choice", Karolina tried to explain.

Bao held up a finger, "my lady, when at war, the last thing you want to do is inform your opponent that you are coming from a position of weakness. The same goes for negotiation. Now, I can charge you quite literally whatever I wish and not budge from that price."

Karolina huffed, growing flustered. "You are correct, yes, but if we could just get to that price…"

"And now you're rushing me, making me even more unwilling to negotiate, and quite possibly unwilling to engage you in trade at all", Bao Sangzan affixed Karolina with uncaring eyes.

"Show some respect if you even want to be considered. We have a limited supply to sell and Lord Bao must be selective." Tane snapped, pointing downward. "Bow. All of you."

Karolina looked at her two companions. Weil thought she might just explode. The Lady von Bauman finally bent at the waist, flushed with humiliation. Weilstadt and Aclan did the same.

"Lower", Bao demanded.

After a pause, they all three went to ninety degree angles, holding there for a few seconds. Bao seemed content to let them. Weilstadt wasn't particularly bothered; he wasn't exactly a prideful person, and he had long ago learned that crime lords had egos that could put Emperor's to shame. Even if she wasn't a typical noble, Karolina was clearly not fond of having to kowtow to a drug dealer.

Finally, Bao said, "there we go. See? Properly civil and everything. Rise. Now we can talk. Fire lily, yes? How much do you need?"

"Half an ounce", Karolina answered at once.

Bao nodded and said. "Fifty crowns."

Weil's heart skipped far too many beats. Fifty crowns for only half and ounce of anything was madness. At least Lady Isabel was footing the bill.

"Deal", Karolina agreed.

Weilstadt let out a sigh of relief. It seemed the worst was passed.

Carmina peeked out through the slit in Bao Sangzan's tent. The Cathayan had proven surprisingly resistant to vampiric magics. Carmina's more mundane charms had been more effective with him, allowing her to be close enough to influence someone else.

Kakita Tane, also known as the Red Saber in the Altdorf underground, looked ready for combat at all times. Carmina could read her like an open book. Something in her past hung over Tane, constantly picking at her like a biting insect that she couldn't reach.

Carmina was surprised that Isabel had not come, but the three blundering mortals would be a fine consolation prize. Then, Isabel would be without allies, and Carmina would be able to strike the final blow against her hated sister.

But first, it was time for a bit of fun. With a malignant smile, Carmina focused her magic on the ronin. A simple illusion was all that was needed here.

Bao called for someone in his native language. A minute or two later, one of the serving girls arrived with a small leather pouch on a metal tray. Karolina held out a heft coin purse

Tane's head suddenly, and sharply, snapped to look at Aclan.

"Say that again!" The ronin seethed.

Weil and Karolina both jumped, then looked at the elf. Aclan blinked a few times, his brow furrowing.

"I didn't say anything", the elf assured him.

"Tane, be still", Bao said to his bodyguard.

"Bao is not my _lord_, this is a matter of survival!" Tane ignored everything else around her. "I did not deserve this exile! My honor is intact!" She pushed her sword up a couple inches with her thumb. "Explain why you're here and away from Ulthuan, then, _White Lion_. Hypocrite! Take it back at once or draw your steel."

"Hypocrite?" Aclan's elven honor bristled. "I left Ulthuan by choice, not exile", his hand went to his greataxe. "I won't take back anything I didn't say. You're mad."

"Maybe don't insult her, Ac…", Weilstadt advised, feeling the situation start to slip away.

Steel rang as it was drawn. Tane held a curved saber unlike anything Weil had seen. The crimson steel of the blade had a waved pattern to it. It looked thin enough that Ac's axe would break it or bend it without issue. It had a distinctive aura of magic about it, however, which could very well have been enough to prevent that.

"Tane, he said nothing", Bao said, growing annoyed. "Stop inventing slights to your honor. I'm tired of buying new carpets."

"Shut up, worm! You're nothing. You scrabble in the sewers like a rat and make your living off mindless fools. I make my living in battle, battles you promised me but have yet to give me. I don't need your damned gold anymore!" Tane's voice broke.

"You ungrateful wench!" Bao yelled, his hand falling to his sword as he tried to stand up.

Tane's sword whisked through the air. Bao's head was suddenly rolling across the floor. His body slumped and knocked over the lantern upon his table. A shout went up amongst the guards as burning oil ignited the carpet beneath them.

Weil sprang into action. He rushed at the serving girl, snatching the leather pouch from her tray. "Lina! Ac! Let's go!"

"You're not going anywhere!" Tane screamed. She struck at Aclan, who blocked her saber with his axe.

"Don't throw your life away in a pointless fight", Aclan retorted. He didn't try to riposte.

Tane's strikes were blindingly fast, hard cuts with bold steps, her feet finding their place with certainty as she repeatedly tried to cut Aclan down. Around them, fire was spreading.

"Herr Aclan! We have to leave!" Karolina called out. She drew her pistol and shot a guard as he came out from between two tents. The bullet took him in the chest. The noblewoman drew her broadsword to face another that came around his fallen comrade. She dodged a thrust meant for her midsection, caught the man's sword arm between her arm and her ribs, twisting around behind him, breaking his elbow, and causing his sword to fall. Karolina stabbed him through the back and shoved the Cathayan to the ground.

Weil hefted his crossbow as all hell started breaking loose in the drug den. Those patrons lucid enough to do so began trying to stumble for the doors. The fire was spreading, smoke was beginning to fill the confined room, tents were being knocked over.

The Sewer Jack decided he didn't give a shit for honor or fairness. He put three bolts down range, dropping a pair of Bao's guards as they came into his vision through the smoke and veritable jungle of tangled fabric. He saw Karolina punch another guard in the face with her basket hilt, driving a boot into his knee, then hip tossing him to the floor, stabbing the guard through the chest before he could rise.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. Aclan was still refusing to attack Tane. The ronin was only growing more and more enraged.

"Fight back, damn you!" Tane demanded.

"You're being a fool! Stop this!" Ac retorted.

Weilstadt got as close as he dared, shooting Tane through the leg. She fell at once, taking the pommel of Ac's weapon in the face as she fell. The ronin was laid out flat.

"You done dancing?" Weilstadt asked. He coughed several times.

"I hope so", Aclan sighed. "Let us begone."

"Get...back...here…!" Tane rasped. "Coward!"

Weilstadt and Aclan left her behind, collecting Karolina. The crowd of clients was desperately trying to squeeze through the stairwell that Weil, Ac, and Karolina had come through. The guards seemed to have lost interest in fighting, now more interested in escaping the smoke and fire.

"The side tunnels. I'll get us through the sewers", Weilstadt suggested.

"Lead the way, Weil", Karolina insisted. "We have what we came for!"

The trio picked one of the only unoccupied side tunnels and fled through it with all speed, leaving the burning drug den behind.

* * *

The fires had burned out, but smoke still lingered in the room.

Tane's lifeless body lay where she had fallen, the bolt still in her leg. Smoke inhalation had killed her. The ronin stared lifelessly at the ceiling, her face locked in an eternal mask of hatred. It had been an inglorious death, the absolute worst thing a samurai could have happen to them.

Someone approached the samurai's body, daintily walking around the other corpses. This person stopped before Tane, inspecting the dead ronin.

"Such a waste", Carmina crooned, shaking her head. "Tsk tsk tsk, we can't have that, can we?"

The vampiress began chanting. She reached out with her magic. Every corpse had a "thread" to its spirit in the afterlife, of sorts. Most were too weak to follow and bring the soul back. That's why mindless zombies and skeletons were so common for necromancers. However, those who were recently dead and/or those who died feeling strong emotions were better anchored to the living world. Carmina followed Tane's thread. The vampiress tugged the ronin's spirit back from the other side. It was actually quite easy.

It only took a few minutes. When Carmina's incantation was done, Tane's eyes slid open. A low groan escaped her deathly pale lips.

"Welcome back", Carmina told the wight. "What was that you said about seeking battles?"

* * *

Weilstadt, Aclan, and Karolina delved into the sewers, using torches they had stolen from the walls of the drug den to light their way. At first, Weil had been confident that they would find their way out with ease. It was a simple matter of following the footsteps through the muck on the walkways of the sewer tunnels. Eventually, they'd find an exit that one of the clients of the drug den used to enter the underground. Their hopes were dashed, however. Weilstadt found a ladder up to a trapdoor, only to discover it was locked. It should have been obvious. Madam Demure had locked the way behind them when they had entered the drug den. It only made sense the other "gatekeepers" would do the same.

"What do we do now?" Karolina asked as Weil climbed back down.

"We keep going", the former Sewer Jack replied. "We're still very close to the surface so it shouldn't be too difficult to find another way out."

"Alright. Good. Lead the way", Karolina prompted.

The trio continued following the walkway they were on for a little while. Weil felt like he was slipping on a well worn coat as he forged ahead through the darkness. A fetid, humid, bubbling coat, but all the same. He wasn't sure if it was irony or coincidence that had once again led him to be traipsing through the noisome depths of Altdorf.

Eventually, they reached a intersection in the tunnels. Such places were always a combination of a boon and a curse to Sewer Jacks. On the one hand, it was about as open of a space as one could hope to face the enemy in down in the depths. On the other, they were the crossroads of the sewers, common places where vile creatures and ruthless smugglers of all kinds to pass through. Noise from one skirmish would echo down the tunnels and invite any number of unwelcome guests to join the fray.

Weilstadt held his torch up and looked closely at the flame. This trick wasn't always reliable in the deeper parts of the sewers, but close to street level, one could often see which direction the flame was leaning to judge where the nearest source of fresh air was. Granted, the source could often be an inaccessible hole in the ceiling, but it was better than wandering blindly.

"Ugh. To think you came down here every day and actually _looked _for trouble", Karolina commented, in much better spirits now that they had obtained the fire lily.

"Almost every day", Weilstadt agreed. "Aye, it wasn't the wisest career choice. Wasn't exactly swimming in options."

"Only swimming in effluence." Aclan mused.

"You didn't even need to join the Watch, Ac", Weil pointed out, then paused before saying, "actually, I don't think I ever asked. Why _did _you join the Sewer Watch?"

Aclan just shrugged, "I needed to prove to myself I was still a true warrior after my self imposed exile. To do so, I needed experience fighting in every environment, no matter how loathsome. The combat challenges the Sewer Watch presented were rather unique. It was simply one of many tests for me."

"Hm. Fair", Weil said.

The Sewer Jack stopped in place. He held the torch close to the floor of the walkway they were on.

"What is it?" Karolina asked.

"Muck's disturbed here. Badly", Weil noted. He looked around, peering into the barely moving sludge in the central channel. There was an unmistakable ribbon of crimson sluggishly dispersing into the ooze. A severed hand was the source.

"Looks fresh", Aclan said with a frown. "Likely someone from the drug den fled this way ahead of us."

Weilstadt further inspected the putrid condensation. The channel was not terribly wide so Weil leapt to the other side to look for more evidence. Sure enough, he found some.

"Footprints. With claws. They lead back the way we came. That's where they came from", Weil observed.

"Ratmen?" Karolina asked.

"No. Too big. Might be a rat ogre, but can't imagine it would be, this close to the surface", Weil ran through several options. He didn't like any of them. "Whatever it was, it killed the owner of that hand and swam away."

"And we walked straight into its hunting ground", Aclan realized.

The revelation made everyone grow cold in spite of the warmth of the sewers.

"We need to hurry. Now", Weilstadt urged them.

The trio followed the angle of the torchlight. The idea that they were being stalked by some unseen horror just out of sight in the shadows lent fearful speed to their movement. It was almost worse that no threat materialized as they finally came to where the flame of the torch was leading them.

It was a door of iron and wood like one might find in a prison. The wood was showing signs of rot. The iron was succumbing to rust. Such doors were not completely uncommon; whether as a place to dump waste or a secret means of egress, Altdorf was riddled with such subterranean passages. Weilstadt tried to open it. The door was locked.

"Watch my back", Weil said, handing his torch to Aclan. Weil took a knee and got out his lockpicks, going to work on the lock.

A rumbling shudder seemed to pass through the air. It had qualities both too bestial and too human, a liquid roiling of sounds that nothing of this world should be able to produce.

"Volker…", Aclan warned.

"I'm not deaf, Ac, I heard it", Weil said as his picks clicked.

"What was that?" Karolina asked with trepidation, aiming her pistol into the darkness.

"Hopefully we will not have to find out", Aclan said.

Weilstadt focused on his task. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead and in the small of his back. In the old days, he would have had this done in less than a minute. He was still out of practice.

Another roar. It was closer now. It was joined by ominous footfalls that grew louder and louder. They increased in speed right alongside Weil's heartbeat.

The lock _clacked _open.

The creature was sprinting.

"Got it!" Weil said, hauling the door open as the incoming beast caterwauled yet again. Glistening flesh and too many teeth became visible in the torchlight as the trio scrambled into the doorway. Aclan pulled on the door, which closed upon a snaking tentacle of rubbery, pinkish flesh. Karolina gasped. Weilstadt drew his spatha and hacked down upon the tentacle, severing it, allowing Aclan to pull the door closed.

"Spawn", Weilstadt gave a name to the horror that bellowed its displeasure at being denied a meal.

They were in a narrow hallway; a short stretch of flat stone leading to a straight, upward stairwell. It had the makings of a secret passage.

Before they could move on, the chaos spawn slammed against the door. The wood bowed inward. A few rusted bolts launched away from the iron binding of the door. Aclan threw himself against the door to try to hold it in place, Weil joining him seconds later.

"Lina!" Weil said. He pulled out the pouch of fire lily and tossed it to her. "Get out of here! We'll hold this thing off."

"I'm not leaving you behind!" Karolina declared, drawing her pistol for emphasis.

"If we all die here, your father dies, too", Weilstadt snapped.

The door shuddered. Weil and Ac were both shoved back a few feet, immediately returning to brace the door.

"My lady, you must go", Aclan reinforced Weil's words. "Baron Bruno needs you. His health is why we came here in the first place."

_SLAM_

Karolina looked down at the pouch in her palm. Her hands trembled.

"Lina. Please!" Weil urged her.

"Weil…", the Lady von Bauman trailed off.

_SLAM_

Weilstadt flashed a cocky smile at her. "This isn't where the stories of Sir Volker and his pretty sidekick end, my fair lady."

Karolina's hand closed around the fire lily petals. "Promise me."

_SLAM. _Two planks of the door were parted enough for the sickly claws of a vestigial hand to scrabble through. Weil stabbed at the withered limb and it withdrew.

"I swear it Ranald's cloak", Weilstadt promised. "Now go!"

Karolina opened her mouth like she might say one last thing. Her eyes met Weilstadt's and a saga's worth of words not yet spoken could be seen there. She clenched her teeth, forced herself to turn around, and sprinted up the stairs. Weil watched her depart and a longing he had never felt before took hold of him, casting some things into stark clarity in his mind. No. He would _not _die here.

_SLAM. _Some of the iron binding simply snapped and fell off. The door was now crooked on its hinges, gaps forming in it in several places.

Weil and Ac backed away from the door, readying their ranged weapons.

"I wouldn't be the sidekick", Aclan said as he nocked an arrow on his bow.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Herr Sunshine", Weil replied, leveling his crossbow on the door. The narrow width of the hallway would be their primary advantage. Spawn were creatures of instinct. Even if they didn't kill it, it would flee if hurt badly enough.

_CRAAAAACK_

The chaos spawn hurled itself against the door one last time. It finally gave way beneath the battering, falling to pieces. The spawn was larger than the door, but given its mutable form, the spawn began squeezing itself through to the hallway beyond. Aclan let his arrow fly, quickly drawing another one and loosing it as well. Weilstadt continuously pumped the trigger on his repeater, sending all eight quarrels down range to stick into the flesh of the chaos spawn. Already it was bleeding from over a dozen arrow and bolt wounds as it finally hauled itself into the hallway. The spawn was nine feet in height, an amorphous mass of gnashing teeth, twitching eyes, and pulsating skin. It stamped about on two legs like tree trunks, and was possessed of countless smaller tentacles and grasping claws. The beast's primary limb was something like a scorpion's stinger that was at least six feet long sticking from its left side.

"Down in the deep", Weilstadt called, drawing his swords.

Aclan hefted his axe and finished the war cry, "where the best still sleep!"

They charged. The giant stinger struck at them, the two adventurers going flat against opposite walls to avoid it. Weilstadt sliced at the carapace of the stinger limb with _Windsong_ while Ac chopped at the spawn's main bulk. Several smaller tentacles fell to the ground, twitching like worms in a skillet. As the spawn drew its primary limb back, Weilstadt followed it in, his twin swords flensing corrupted flesh from the body of the creature. The spawn's ululations filled the hallway. Its smaller limbs suddenly sprang forth from its body as if on coiled tendons. The flurry of attacks fell like hammering fists against the unprepared adventurers, driving them back, allowing the spawn to throw its stinger forth again.

Aclan barely managed to move out of the way of the stinger, which crushed into the masonry of the wall beside the elf. Weil used this, trying to close in, but the spawn's many eyes were not just for show, and he was thwarted by another flurry of pseudopods and scraping talons. Weil spun his swords, parrying and severing several of the smaller limbs, but even as the blood ran in rivulets down the mutant creature's body, the spawn was undeterred.

The two adventurers were backed up to the stairs by the inexorable advance of the chaos spawn. They continued to score hits across the thing's body, but it kept coming. Aclan continued hewing masses of tissue from the chaos spawn with fall after fall of his axe, while Weil would dart in, stabbing and slashing. It was as if this spawn couldn't feel pain.

Aclan's axe became lodged in the spawn's body. He tried to pull it free, sliding once more against the wall to avoid the spawn's stinger. Instead of just withdrawing it, the spawn wrapped its stinger limb around Aclan, hauling the cursing elf into the air. The elf drew his back up sword, uselessly scraping it against the segmented shell that held him fast. Metal creaked as Ac's armor began to buckle under the constriction. The top half of the chaos spawn split vertically into a giant, stinking maw full of broken, jagged teeth and lashing tongues.

Weil seized this moment, for he would not have another if Aclan died. Aching and bruised, Weilstadt once again brought himself within sword range of the spawn. Yet again he was pummeled and scratched, his left eye going blind as a searing line was carved across his forehead and blood ran into Weil stabbed it in the gut as Aclan was lifted his, then ducked low and slid under it, leaving his spatha embedded in the monster and dragging the weapon through it in a grisly arc that produced torrents of blood. This, finally, drew a reaction from the chaos spawn. It released Aclan, who hurled his sword point-down into the spawn's maw as he fell to the stairs. As Ac's sword struck home, Weil was ripping his spatha free, butchering fresh marks into the relatively unhurt back of the spawn. The spawn gurgled and retched as the sword stuck inside its mass refused to shift and roil like the rest of the beast did. Aclan finally got his axe free, brought it up and around, then down one last time. The axeblade cut a path from the corner of the spawn's vertical mouth all the way down its front to the start of the wound that Weilstadt had carved through its lower body.

The chaos spawn _opened_.

A grotesque flow of a blood, bones, and tissue filled the hallway. Weilstadt was almost swept away by the vile current. The spawn's body limply flopped to the stairs. Finally, there was only the sound of trickling blood and dripping water.

"Going to have to buy another sword", Aclan wheezed, leaning against the wall. He coughed and spat out a globule of blood. "Isha's mercy, why must my ribs be such a common target in these endeavors?"

"Dunno, Ac", Weil gasped. "Gonna have another scar on my face. Don't think it's a defining feature anymore if its all scars." He limped over to Aclan.

"Come. Let us...be off. I need a doktor...or perhaps a drink", Aclan thought aloud.

The two adventurers put arms around each other, holding each other up as they surmounted the stairs.

"You're starting to sound like me, Ac", Weil commented, letting out a laugh that turned into a rough hack.

"If you're going to be saying such horrible things, simply let me die next time", Aclan requested as they made their way up to whatever this building was.

* * *

Three days later, Weilstadt and Aclan were healed up enough to, rather slowly, begin moving around again. Aclan once more headed for the Elven Embassy, leaving it to Weilstadt to go to House von Bauman.

Pascal and Soren let the heavily bandaged Sewer Jack through the front gate.

"You look like you went a few rounds with the Emperor's griffon, Herr Weilstadt", Pascal joked.

"If only", Weil snorted as he walked by.

The Sewer Jack entered House von Bauman. Everyone seemed to be in better spirits than when he had arrived a few days before. Weilstadt knew the reason why, thanks to a reply to the message he'd sent from the physician's recovery room.

As Weil crested the top of the stairs in the foyer, he asked a servant to point him toward Karolina. The Sewer Jack once more found his way toward Bruno's study, and once more he found Karolina sitting behind her father's desk, diligently at work. The Lady von Bauman's former tired frown was now the neutral face of one focused on their task.

"I know it's not lunch time but I decided to let myself in and disturb you", Weil said as he entered the study.

Karolina looked up from her writing. She smiled at once, setting her quill in its stand. The smile faded a little as she saw the extent of Weil's injuries, most notably the bandage over his left eye.

"Doktor said I'll probably have my sight back in this eye in a few days." Weilstadt assured her.

"I hope so", Karolina said. "I'm overjoyed that you're alive and well, Weil. I hate to admit it, but part of me was afraid that hallway was going to be the last time I saw you." She pushed herself up from her chair but remained behind the desk for the moment.

"The feeling was mutual", Weil admitted. He slowly started making his way across the room. "How's your father?"

"Doing much better, thank Sigmar. Lady Isabel's antidote worked just as she said it would", Karolina explained, breathing out a sigh of relief. "Father still needs a lot of rest, but he's been awake and lucid several times and eaten real food for several meals."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it", Weil said. He stopped on the other side of the desk from Karolina.

"It's all thanks to you. And Herr Aclan. And Lady Isabel. And myself, I suppose. It's all thanks to us", Karolina said, laughing a little.

"It was a team effort. For once it's a victory that really feels like a victory", Weil enthused.

"Yes. It does", Karolina agreed.

They looked at each other across the desk. With butterflies in his stomach, Weilstadt reminded himself of the resolution he had come to while watching her escape with the antidote.

"Lina…"

"Weil…"

They had spoken at the same time. Both stopped and smiled.

"Go on", Karolina bid him.

Weilstadt steeled himself and said, "I wanted to tell you something before I had the good sense to stop myself."

"Oh?" Karolina looked bemused.

"Aye", Weil confirmed. "What would you say if I told you that I've had feelings for you ever since that business in Lichtzeichen?"

Even as she blushed, Karolina answered, "I'd likely say the feeling was mutual."

"I'm sorry, I...wait, really?" Weil blurted.

"Of course. We'd only just met at the time, though. I thought it to just be a passing fancy, a casual attraction. You interested me, and I've always enjoyed your return visits to Altdorf", Karolina smiled in a girlish way as she spoke. "The feeling only grew each time you came back. That's not even getting into how you've risked your life for my family", she closed her eyes, appearing bashful, "I know how you feel about nobility. I suppose I didn't think you could ever feel that way about a noblewoman, nor did I want you to feel tied down when the adventurer's life so clearly suits you."

Weil said at once, "and I didn't think you'd feel that way about someone who's a commoner and a criminal both. But how could I not be attracted to you? You're incredibly brave, Lina, and you're brilliant and you're so godsdamned beautiful and for three years I've just pined like some idiot in one of my storybooks", he took a deep breath, leaning slightly over the desk, "I'm not asking you to marry me or if I can court you or any of that. Hell, I don't know what I'm asking right now. I just wanted to say...to say…"

Karolina tilted toward him, encouraging him with a grin and saying, "it's alright, Weil. Just say it."

"I love you, Lina." The words escaped him like birds freed from a cage. He brought a hand to her cheek, brushing back a few strands of platinum hair from her face. "There it is."

Karolina reached out, taking Weil's hand that still rested against her cheek. "Was that so difficult?"

"I...think this is where you say it back", Weil suggested.

"Of course I love you, Weil", Karolina confirmed, giving his hand a squeeze. "Now...this is the part where the brave knight is supposed to kiss his lady love, if I'm recalling the storybooks correctly."

"Depends on the book, I s'pose…", Weil started to say.

"Just shut up and kiss me, you fool", Karolina groaned and laughed at the same time.

Weilstadt did as he was told, spanning the rest of the distance between them. Their lips met and, for a timeless moment, there was nothing else.

Suddenly, without pulling away, Karolina swept everything off the top of the desk. She stopped kissing Weilstadt for just long enough to get onto the desk and slide across it until she was sitting in front of Weil. Karolina pulled him down to her, kissing fiercely, her hands holding fast to the collar of Weil's shirt. For his part, Weil's hands found their way around Karolina's back, and he pulled her as close to himself as he could.

That's when the door to the study opened.

"My lady, His Lordship was wondering if y-...", the steward, Herschel, was saying until he entered the room and saw what was going on.

Weilstadt took a long step away from Karolina and made certain that he was facing away from the steward for the time being.

Karolina, blushing furiously and fixing her shirt, said, "what was that, Herschel?"

"I...ahm...H-his Lordship would like to know if you would have time to join him for lunch", the steward said, looking everywhere but at Karolina or Weilstadt.

"Right. Of course. Tell him I would be glad to", the Lady von Bauman said.

"His Lordship would no doubt appreciate your presence as well, Herr Weilstadt." Herschel went on.

"I'd be honored", Weil said, giving a thumbs up over his shoulder.

"Very good. Ahem." Herschel coughed as he closed the door in his wake.

After a few seconds, Karolina laid back on the desk and sighed, "Morr take me, of all the bad timing."

"Here", Weil came over and offered her his hand. "I'm sure there will be more time later."

"Of course", Karolina agreed, allowing Weil to help her to her feet. "Such as after lunch."

"Well there goes any hope I had of focusing on the conversation", the Sewer Jack muttered as the two of them left the study.

* * *

_It had certainly been one of our faster paced adventures. We'd gone from learning about poison to fighting a Cathayan drug lord's thugs to battling a chaos spawn all in the span of a single day._

_Baron von Bauman made a full recovery from the attempt on his life. That was a blessing. He was not a man that deserved to die in such a dreadful way. My only regret at the time was the fact that Carmina had struck and faded away without reprisal. The vampiress was quickly proving to be a persistent threat. I could only hope that once Lady Isabel had finished with her ritual, we would be able to stop reacting to Carmina's plots and finally go on the offensive against that fiend._

_My confession to Lady Karolina was a relief in one respect and a source of consternation in another. On the one hand, I no longer had those emotions just bounding about in my belly every time I saw her. On the other hand, I now had something I had not had since my fellows in my old gang, my best friends in the world at the time, were all killed._

_I now had something to lose. Morr drag me away if I intended to allow it to be lost._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 8: Midnight's Last Light"_


	12. Narrow is the Path

_Aclan and I spent a few weeks in Altdorf, finally able to take a much needed break. It was, perhaps, not _quite _as restful as it could have been. I felt myself looking over my shoulder quite a bit as if I'd spot Carmina poised and ready to sink her fangs into my neck. We knew she was out there planning something. My time spent with Lady Karolina did a fair amount to calm my spirit. Being a man who must at least _pretend _to be a gentleman now, however, I shall elaborate no further on that subject._

_Something else had occurred. The time had almost come. Lady Isabel Monte had completed the preparations for her ritual that would return her from vampirehood to proper life. She only needed to wait for the "celestial bodies in the outer spheres to properly align." It had been a rocky road, one filled with doubt, but I had anticipated that the next time Aclan and I saw her, she would have a beating heart and blood running through her veins._

_It was a day before Mondestille when she came to us. By Ranald's shadowed cloak, how I wish she hadn't._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: the Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Part 9: A Spirit Sanguine."_

* * *

Weilstadt blinked a few times as he woke up. He still felt the strangeness of his left eyelid running over the wooden prosthetic that now occupied that eye socket. Doktor Peder had misjudged the injury. An infection had taken hold, necessitating the eye's removal. Weil was spending much of his time practicing with his repeater crossbow or sparring with Aclan or Karolina, learning to aim and fight with this sudden change in depth perception.

The Sewer Jack was beginning to notice persistent aches that troubled him in the mornings after waking up, as well. They were slight things, inconveniences that went away after he got up and moved around for a bit. The worst were his hand that the skaven had bit through and his right knee, which he had badly wrenched when fighting the dragon at Karak Barid. Weil found himself beginning to wonder if this was how some of the great heroes died. Did the injuries and stiffness pile up until it slowed them just that little bit to allow the killing blow to fall that would otherwise have been blocked?

Sitting up slowly, Weil rubbed at his false eye. It still itched and throbbed in the mornings, a phantom pain on the now blackened half of his vision. He suppressed a cough, swinging his feet out and putting them on the floor of his room at the inn. Outside the window, he could hear horses and mules clopping by. There were countless voices carrying on over each other. Just another day in Altdorf.

Behind Weil, someone stirred. The Sewer Jack looked back, seeing a slender figure blearily coming to wakefulness, brushing platinum hair from her face. At this, he smiled.

"Good morning", Karolina said dreamily, her eyes fluttering.

"Pretty sure it's afternoon", Weil wagered.

"Then it's not taboo to start drinking", the Lady von Bauman said, giggling. After a few moments she rose to her knees and shuffled over to Weil, hugging him from behind. Weilstadt savored the warmth of her body against his.

The two of them sat like that for a few minutes, as if neither particularly wanted to leave the embrace and face the day ahead.

"You really are a woman after my own heart", Weil sighed contentedly.

"Glad you finally realized it", Karolina quipped, kissing him on the cheek. "Ah, but I should probably get back to the estate" She got up from bed and started dressing.

Weil laid back and stared at the ceiling. "I'm sure the world can do without you for a couple more hours", he said.

"Bold of you to think it would take that long", Karolina ribbed him, smiling impishly as she did.

Weilstadt just laughed. He forced himself to get up and start putting his clothes on as well. "Probably need to check in on Ac and see if he's gone too stir crazy yet."

"You're not getting eager to get back on the adventurer's path?" Karolina asked him. It wasn't a loaded question. Thank the gods the Lady von Bauman was not the sort to do that or Weil would have been doomed from the start.

"Yes and no", his answer was honest. "Obviously I have some reasons to want to be in Altdorf for a while. But, I guess I have been starting to get restless. I haven't stayed in one place for this long in what feels like forever."

"You do whatever feels right to you", Karolina advised him. "Don't let me or anyone else make the choice for you."

Weilstadt grinned as she spoke. He said, "a jug of wine and a meat pie feel pretty right."

"There you are", Karolina rolled her eyes and snorted. She pulled a Sigmarite medallion over her head. She didn't used to wear a holy symbol, but at Weil's suggestion, she had started to ever since Carmina had tried to assassinate her father.

When the two of them finished getting dressed, they left the room and the inn, ending up in the street outside.

"Whatever I decide, I'll let you know if I'm leaving", Weil promised the noblewoman.

"Fair enough", Karolina affirmed, throwing her arms around his neck. "Until next time either way, brave Sir Weilstadt."

The two kissed one last time before parting ways. Weil watched Karolina walk away. For the umpteenth time since it had begun, Weilstadt once again wondered how that tomboyish goddess had come to the decision to spend her affections on him. Best not to question such things and just go along with it.

With reluctance, Weil looked away from Karolina and headed off into the city. It was, indeed, early afternoon. He pulled the blue cloak he'd received from Athel Loren a bit more tightly about himself to ward off the chill. Weil walked with a spring in his step and a cheerful expression that clashed with his martial attire and heavily scarred countenance. For the first time in a long time, he was happy. Not even a missing eye could dampen his spirits.

Weilstadt neared the Elven Embassy. The gate guards had begun to recognize him, but unlike those at House von Bauman, they made the Sewer Jack wait for Aclan to come out. It was rather surprising, then, that not only did Aclan come out almost at once, but he was fully arrayed for battle, as well.

"Ac? Got a hot date I wasn't aware of?" Weil asked as the White Lion drew close.

"I received a message from a mutual acquaintance of ours barely an hour ago." Aclan said. The gate guards opened the way for him and bowed their heads as he passed. "Walk with me."

Weil dropped out of his joking mood, seeing Ac's serious face. He waited until they were away from the guards. "Lady Isabel, I'm guessing."

"Yes. She has requested our aid. She did not say what she needs." Aclan explained.

"We're sure it's from her and not our other, uh, 'living impaired' friend?" Weilstadt asked.

"I do not think Carmina is responsible for the message, no", Aclan said. "We'll receive our answer at House Monte."

House Monte's "estate" in Altdorf proper was actually just a nice townhouse in one of the burgher residential districts. Their seat of power, according to Isabel, was in a large, rural estate in southern Reikland where they could keep constant watch over the dreadful Castle Drachenfels.

Weil and Ac were known to the servants of House Monte. They were let through the front door into an austere entry room. Isabel came up from the basement shortly thereafter. She wore a stained alchemist's apron over thick laborer's clothes.

"Ah, Herr Weilstadt, Herr Aclan. Thank you for coming so promptly. Please, come with me." Isabel bid them, leading them to the dining room of the house. A simple charcuterie board of cheese, sausage, and bread was laid out for them. Weil wasn't feeling particularly hungry just yet. He still ate some, though. He may have had money now, but old habits die hard.

"Your message said the matter was urgent, my lady", Aclan prompted Isabel as the Lady Monte began pacing at the head of the table.

"The time is nearly upon me. Tomorrow at midnight, at Mondstille's end, the stars will be aligned and I shall finally be able to be rid of this curse", Isabel explained.

"Well, that is a good thing, is it not?" Aclan inquired, looking disapprovingly at Weil as the Sewer Jack stuffed his mouth full and washed it down with wine.

"I thought so", Isabel sighed, placing a hand against her temple. "However, there is one problem I have not yet been able to figure out how to circumvent, and unfortunately I do not have the time to continue working on it. If I might explain a little of the ritual's nature to you?"

Both adventurers nodded to her.

"Every body has a sort of tether to its soul", Isabel launched into her explanation. "When you are alive, this tether is at its strongest. After death, various conditions can affect this tether; how long you've been dead, the manner of your death, if your corpse was burned, etc. Vampires exist in a sort of...limbo. Our bodies are dead, but the link to our souls is still quite strong, explaining why we maintain our sapience and personalities. Of course, vampirism, over time, has drastic effects on a person, but that is neither here nor there."

"So what's the problem if your link to your soul is strong?" Weil inquired.

"Because my soul is, at least in part, claimed by death", Isabel answered. "The formula I have been gathering ingredients for, is meant to 'open the door' to my soul to pull it out of whatever sort of deathly limbo it has been lingering in since I was turned. However, and this is the crux of the issue, I have been unable to find a means to 'pulling' my soul back through that door once opened."

It was probably oversimplified, but it all made sense to Weilstadt.

Aclan said, "you know more about this business than Volker and I. I don't think there's much we can do for you, my lady."

"You can't", Isabel agreed, stopping in place. "But my uncle, Hartwin Monte, could."

Weil and Ac waited for her to say more.

"He was once a Black Guard of Morr", Isabel said slowly, her voice actually trembling slightly. "Now, he's a priest of the god of death here in Altdorf. With his help, I can return to life and be rid of this curse."

"My lady, even I know the Black Guards", Weil said, his appetite now fully gone. "Morrites hate undead, and the Black Guards...no one in the Empire hates undead more than them."

"You think I'm not aware of that?" Isabel asked in a brittle tone.

"What I think Volker is trying to say is that perhaps a different person would be advisable. A different priest of Morr, or perhaps even a necromancer?" Aclan tried to be diplomatic.

Isabel shook her head. "No. I can trust no one else. Hartwin may have been a Black Guard, but he is family. He, as a Monte, will understand. He _has _to. But, I do not intend to act foolishly. If I approach him, he will know of my true nature; that is if I could even come to him while he is inside a church. That is why I will need the two of you to go to him. Convince Uncle Hartwin to aid me in the ritual that will return me to life."

Weil closed his eyes. Ranald's cloak. This was madness. "And if we can't convince him?" Weil asked the obvious question.

"Then I shall trust him to come destroy me. I will _not _live past Mondestille in this beastly form, one way or another", Isabel affirmed, both her hands balling up. She looked to the two adventurers. "Please, Herr Weilstadt, Herr Aclan...there is no one else I can turn to."

Weil glanced over at Ac. The elf's face was set in consternation. He said nothing for or against this idea.

"I'm going to make it clear with Hartwin that I won't be getting in his way if he decides to destroy you", Weilstadt was frank with the Lady Monte.

"I would rather you do that than lose your life on my account", Isabel concurred with the Sewer Jack.

Weil let out a long, tired breath. "Alright, then. Could you tell us where this temple of Morr is, then?"

"Of course, of course. Thank you. Thank you so much, both of you. I owe you more than I could ever repay", Isabel fairly gushed her praise.

"Let us see you returned to humanity before we begin assigning credit", Aclan suggested.

Isabel gave them directions to the temple. The two adventurers headed that way.

* * *

The main cathedral of Morr was in Altdorf's Temple District. Not so with the one that beckoned Weil and Ac. Death struck everywhere, and the god of death spread his servants among the people. Smaller temples and chapels of Morr could be found beside taverns, shops, or brothels in the cities of the Empire and beyond. Where the pair of adventurers was bound was a temple smack in the middle of several of Altdorf's industrial metalworking foundries. Workers died all too often in those places, and the adherents of Morr stood ready to receive the dead.

Weilstadt and Aclan were traversing the streets outside the smoke belching factories that towered over them. Arms and armor for the State Troops of Reikland were produced here, as well as other equipment for the military like horseshoes, belt buckles, and buttons. First shift was just being let out, with second shift coming in to replace them until late in the night when third shift would arrive. The streets were full of men and women with lean muscled bodies and practical, heavily stained clothes. They carried lunch pales and workman's tools, those leaving chatting in cheery but tired voices, those arriving looking morose. The daily grind. One had to get their bread somehow.

"Do you really think this will work as Lady Isabel intends?" Aclan asked Weil.

Weilstadt shook his head. "Not a fucking chance. But we both swore we'd help Lady Isabel. If we don't at least give it the old college try, doesn't make our word worth very much, does it?"

"I suppose not. I just hope we can convince Hartwin that we are not complicit and that we are not vampiric thralls", the elf said.

"If not, guess we'll have to add 'threw hands with a priest of the god of death' to the list of shit keeping us from a good afterlife", Weil mused with a chuckle.

Aclan didn't say anything.

"Ah, that's where the line gets drawn, then?" Weil snorted.

Aclan stopped in the street.

Weil stopped a second later, saying, "oi, Herr Sunshine…"

"Look ahead, Volker, and close your mouth", Aclan advised, pointing through the thronging crowd of workers.

Furrowing his brow, Weil did as he was told.

About thirty paces away, a figure in red lamellar armor was standing in the middle of the street. They had their head down; a wide-brimmed, conical straw hat covered their downturned face. The figure's left hand rested upon the hilt of a curved sword, the left thumb pushing the sword an inch or two out of the scabbard.

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me", Weil bemoaned, hands going for his swords.

"No", Aclan stopped Weil as a few of the surrounding workers gave them strange looks. "This might be a distraction. Carmina might have found out about Isabel's plan. You need to go see to Hartwin. I will handle this." To emphasize this, Aclan grabbed his Chracian axe from his back.

The red armored revenant looked up just enough to reveal a deathly pale face and hateful black eyes.

"Go now." Aclan said.

"Shit's never bloody simple…", Weil cursed, thumping Aclan on the back, "give that bitch hell, brother."

With that, Weilstadt left, hurriedly taking an alternate route to the temple.

* * *

Aclan watched as the human laborers began to realize what was happening and cleared the path between him and his newly presented foe. Aclan's stance was defensive, his axe's head held back and ready to come forward as soon as this deathly figure came into his superior reach.

"Our first battle wasn't enough, then", Aclan said now that there was no one between him and the warrior in red armor.

The wight that had once been Kakita Tane rasped, "it wasn't a battle. You refused to fight back and your cowardly partner struck me from surprise. It was a travesty. It was shameful beyond words. I will be rectifying that now."

"Where is Carmina", Aclan demanded more than asked. The two warriors started circling each other.

"I don't know where that beast is lairing", Tane spat. "My only regret is that this deathless state keeps me from striking down the one that raised me. So, I shall have to settle for the next best thing; reclaiming the honor you stole from me with that farce of a duel in Sangzan's den."

"I can't steal what you never had", Aclan rebuked the undead ronin.

"You base born cur!" Tane screeched. Her crimson saber rang as she drew it. "I will write your epitaph in your own blood!"

The ronin closed the distance between herself and Aclan with startling speed. Aclan's axe met her charge, which Tane blocked with her sword. Unfortunately, the blade did not bend under the impact as Aclan had hoped.

The two broke away, the onlooking laborers letting out various exclamations of astonishment as elf and ronin circled each other once more.

"Are not the asur of Ulthuan supposed to be the finest warriors in the world?" Tane taunted.

"Are not the samurai of Nippon supposed to be alive and free-willed?" Aclan quipped in response. By Asuryan, Volker's attitude really had rubbed off on the elf.

Tane struck again with a two handed, overhead slash. Her blade was a whirling, red blur, keeping its momentum through each attack fouled by Aclan's axe. Aclan managed to finally catch the saber in the crook where his axeblade met the haft of the great weapon. He pulled across his body, dragging Tane's sword to the side and sending the ronin stumbling. The Chracian weapon came back around with that motion, smashing through lamellar armor and gouging out Tane's side. Like most undead, wights did not _need _to be struck in the head to be slain, just damaged enough to disrupt the necromantic energies that sustained them. It was, however, a much surer method of destruction.

That became evident as Tane, far from crippled by the blow to her side, retaliated by slashing backward and up. Aclan barely managed to lean away, and even so, he felt the saber's point nick his cheek, prompting a single droplet of blood. Before Tane could follow this up, however, the White Lion's axe cracked a couple of paver stones between them, forcing the ronin back.

"At least you're halfway decent with that axe", Tane snipped, resetting her footing.

"Boldly spoke, considering you'd be dead if not for being undead now", Aclan chastised her, lifting his axe from the broken street. "Face it. Even if you kill me now, it will mean nothing. You'll always be nothing!"

Tane didn't even reply this time. She wailed like a damned spirit and charged once again.

* * *

Carmina did not materialize as Weil stopped to catch his breath just outside the temple of Morr. Part of him feared for Aclan and wanted to return to help his partner, but the elf had been right. If Carmina had somehow managed to find out about the plan, Hartwin would be her target.

Once Weil had collected himself and refocused. He'd been thinking on how to persuade Hartwin and had a few points to lead with. Hopefully it would be enough.

With a nervous huff, Weil entered the Morrite temple. It was a dark, dour place. The left door was white, the right one black, representing the twin doors of life and death that all mortals were destined to pass through. The temple was small on the surface, its greater mass no doubt below the ground where initiates of Morr did the business of embalming and preparing corpses. The chapel of the temple had room for only about one-hundred people.

An old priest was currently lighting banks of votive candles all around the sides of the room with a taper. The man wore a cassock of plain grey. His bare feet padded against the floor as he moved. There was still strength in the old man, though, in the sure way that he moved. At present, he was up at the altar.

"Welcome, child", the priest said as Weil entered. "Do you need the services of the temple today?"

"No, sir", Weilstadt said.

"Come to pray?"

"No, sir. I'm looking for someone. Brother Hartwin."

The old priest paused. A thin line of smoke snaked up from the taper in his hands.

"I am he", Hartwin Monte said. "If you need a monster destroyed, you are better off asking one of Morr's knightly orders or a Sigmarite Witch Hunter. I am much too far past my prime for such things."

"No, sir. In fact, what I need is the opposite of that", Weil explained as he approached the altar. A beautifully crafted raven made of painted clay sat upon the altar on a short pedestal above the candles.

"I'm afraid you'll have to elaborate, young man", Hartwin prompted. He licked his thumb and forefinger, using them to put the taper out with a _hiss_.

"It's your niece, Lady Isabel", Weil explained.

"Little Izzy? What has she gotten herself into?" Hartwin's worry was immediate.

"She's…", Weil hesitated, swallowing a lump in his throat. "...she's been turned into a vampire."

The old priest let out a low sound of distress. His tired eyes settled on the image of the raven.

"Sometimes I curse the day our ancestors made that damned pledge", Hartwin grunted, shaking his head. "As if we could, ourselves, turn back the forces of Old Night. The Vampire Wars were freshly over, everyone was worried, the Empire needed heroes to make the sacrifice, but...ah, gods, why did it have to be the Montes?"

Weil frowned. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

"She is far from the first Monte to suffer this fate. Some did so willingly, if you could believe it", the priest shook his head again. "I suppose I shall have to inform the Black Guards, then. I'm no longer the warrior I once was."

"But you can still help her", Weil insisted.

Hartwin raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't take your meaning, Herr…?"

"Weilstadt", the Sewer Jack said. "And my meaning is this; Lady Isabel has discovered a way to cure her vampirism. She just needs the help of a priest of Morr."

Hartwin's eyes closed and his mouth turned into a grimace. "Please, Herr Weilstadt. Do not speak such blasphemies in Morr's house, lest I be required to treat you as a vampiric thrall."

"I'm no thrall, and honestly, if we can't come to terms on this, you're more than welcome to round up the Black Guard and deal with her", Weilstadt emphasized his words with swift hand motions. "I'm not dying for a vampire. That being said, Lady Isabel saved the life of a man I respect in the utmost with no expectation of personal gain. I owe it to her to at least try this. Not to mention, she saved the life of pretty much everyone at the Goldgather's End Gala a couple years back."

"Rumors have abounded about that night", Hartwin recalled. "You say Izzy was involved in that?"

"She's the only reason anyone made it out alive." Weil said. He told the full story of the Gala and what he knew of Carmina and Malfalto. He explained the battle with the dragon, their time in Tilea...he left out Mordheim, though. Finally, he tried to discuss what he remembered from Isabel's explanation of her ritual. Weil tried to paint Isabel in as good a light as he could, but the Sewer Jack was no orator. At the end, he said, "she's had to feed, I know. Usually it was on animals. When it was humans, it was those trying to kill us or criminals. Just think about it, though. If this works, how many other people that were unwillingly turned into vampires could this help?"

Hartwin's mouth thinned. He thought for a long time, his eyes mostly resting on the image of Morr's raven.

"I will ask you plainly, Herr Weilstadt", Hartwin's voice was quiet, as if he was hoping for Morr not to hear him. "Do you trust my niece? Do you truly think she can be saved?"

"She's scared me shitless a few times, but aye, I trust her. I wouldn't be here with Morr's scythe hanging over my neck if I didn't", Weil answered.

"Hm", Hartwin breathed, nodding his head. "If it comes down to it, will you help me destroy her?"

"It's what she wants. So, aye", Weil responded, half holding his breath as he waited for Hartwin's reply.

"Then Morr forgive me", Hartwin lamented. "You said tomorrow? At midnight?"

"Aye. I'll come collect you beforehand." Weil had a feeling what Isabel had been calling 'House Monte' wasn't actually a known holding of the family. It was the only explanation as to how one of her family members hadn't seen her and parsed out her secret yet.

"I am...taking a very large leap of faith right now, Herr Weilstadt", Hartwin warned. "You had best keep your end of the agreement if you don't wish to have the ire of Morr's templars."

"My list of enemies is long enough, Brother Hartwin." Weilstadt said. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Weil left the temple at a walk, then took off at a sprint as soon as he turned the corner from Hartwin's sight.

* * *

Aclan slashed upward. Tane shifted out of the way and Aclan struck nothing but air. Tane's saber struck Aclan in the side, but his breastplate rebuffed the slashing blade. Aclan feinted with his pommel and went for Tane's shoulder, a move that glanced off and only broke off the square piece of armor protecting the wight's upper arm.

The elf cursed Carmina's name. Were it not for her, this fight would be over by now. Tane had been hit in the side and in the chest, yet she fought on as if unhurt. She had yet to do any real damage to Aclan, but the elf would tire long before Tane did.

The ronin suddenly drew the shortsword that was tucked into her sash beside her saber's sheathe. All the sparring with Volker was about to be put to the test as Aclan braced to deal with both swords at once.

Tane lunged, thrusting for Ac's belly. The elf shifted his midsection back, lifting the haft of his greataxe to knock away the shortsword that would have otherwise removed his nose. Aclan kicked at Tane's knee with his heel, but the ronin raised her shin and took the blow on her greave. The elf hacked low while Tane was on one leg, but the ronin lifted her other leg, allowing the axe to pass beneath her before falling to her knees and rolling backwards to her feet as Aclan once again smashed street pavers with his axe.

Ac tried to follow up on this. Tane kicked off her back foot immediately after coming out of her roll and got inside Aclan's reach. The ronin's shortsword found a gap between Aclan's breastplate and the tasset on his right thigh, going deep into his lower abdomen on that side. The elf's breath escaped his lips in a harsh hiss.

Alcan reached around behind Tane's head, grabbing a handful of her hair and holding her head in place. He threw a gauntleted fist into her face once, twice, three times, feeling the bones in the wight's face start to give beneath the steel clad punches.

Tane wrenched on her sword, causing Ac's vision to flare with stars. He released her. The ronin withdrew her shortsword. She and her opponent reset themselves, both looking ragged.

"You're getting weary, elf", Tane noted.

"Weary of hearing you talk, perhaps", Aclan retorted, trying to mask his worry.

"Speak all your words now, elf. They will be your last", Tane fell into another combat stance.

Aclan did the same, keeping his wounded right side back.

"Clear the way! Make way!" A new voice cried.

Aclan looked back. A troop of thirteen Reikland State Troop halberdiers arrived on the scene, led by a sergeant carrying a sword and shield.

When Ac looked back forward, he saw Tane was already fleeing. The White Lion dropped to his left knee, leaning heavily on his axe as the State Troops approached him.

"We were told there was an undead here", the sergeant barked.

Aclan pointed at Tane's back, saying, "right there. Good luck catching her, dustling."

"Elves. Always high and mighty, can't even handle one zombie", the sergeant guffawed, "c'mon, lads!" The State Troops hurried off.

Aclan didn't dignify the sergeant with a response. He watched the human soldiers chase after Tane before dragging himself up to his feet, using his axe as a walking stick.

"Ac! Hey, Ac!" Volker's unrefined tones came echoing over the milling laborers. The tattooed human breathlessly came up to Aclan, taking some of the elf's weight and saying. "She did a number on you, looks like."

"If she were still mortal she'd be dead", Aclan defended his dignity. "Get me to Doktor Peder. He at least halfway knows how to suture a wound."

The two adventurers started walking.

"Back in my Sewer Watch days, we had to wait in line for a few hours at a Shallyan temple holding our guts in", Volker recounted with a rather unnerving amount of pride.

"Quite the character building experience, I am sure", Aclan said. "Did you at least convince Hartwin?"

"Aye, thankfully. But only just. This one's going to be tricky." Volker explained. "Could go either way."

"Khaine take my eyes, it's never simple anymore", Aclan groaned.

The two adventurers left the area.

* * *

Mondestille, the winter solstice, was always a strange night. It was the height of the power of Ulric, the god of winter, wolves, and war once worshipped by Sigmar when the Heldenhammer was still a mortal. People kept in their homes, especially those in remote areas, for wolves prowled more boldly than any other time during the year. However, it was also a time to rejoice. After Mondestille, spring was past the halfway point on its return journey. People would break into their stores and hold modest feasts, singing songs and telling tales long into the night.

What sort of story, Weil wondered, would be written this night?

Brother Hartwin looked at Isabel's house with trepidation. Flanking him were two completely silent men in full plate armor that was black as the night. Each carried a specially crafted and blessed war scythe. The Black Guards of Morr were the bane of undead. Weil suspected Hartwin had not told them the full story. The Sewer Jack was sorely missing Aclan's presence, but the elf had been badly wounded by Tane. Hartwin had provided Weil with silver-tipped bolts for his crossbow. Those were a small comfort, but far better than nothing.

"Wait here, brothers. I will summon you, if necessary." Hartwin told the Black Guards. The priest had a sickle hanging from the rope belt he wore around his waist. "Be watchful."

The Black Guards posted up on either side of the front stairs of Isabel's house. Weilstadt went first, knocking on the front door. Isabel's maid opened the door for them, shrinking away when she saw the Morrites outside.

Isabel waited just inside the entryway of the house, wearing a simple cotton dress. As the maid closed the door behind them, the two Montes' eyes met. They did not speak at first. Weil wanted to draw a sword if only to cut the tension in the air.

"Uncle", Isabel spoke the foremost word.

"Hello, Izzy", Hartwin's voice was full of sorrow. "So it's true, then?"

Isabel, upon hearing the diminutive of her name, looked like she would have shed some tears if her tear ducts were capable of doing so. "It is, Uncle. I'm sorry."

"I remember having you sat upon my knee, hearing stories of your father and I bringing light to the darkness in every corner of the Empire", Hartwin recalled, his hands put together. "Morr's gentle embrace, but was I proud when you chose to follow the same path."

"I have not abandoned it, even in this state", Isabel entreated him.

"I believe that you believe that, Izzy", Hartwin nodded as he lectured. "The gate is wide, but beyond it the path is narrow. It is so easy to fall. My greatest fear is that you have fallen."

"Never", Isabel whispered, sharp and full of hurt.

"I would not be here peacefully if I did not think you were beyond redemption", Hartwin held up a hand to calm his niece. "I was reluctant. I still am. But, Herr Weilstadt brought up a point I could not ignore. If you are right; if you have truly done the impossible and discovered a cure for vampirism, then it would be an unbelievable boon in our battle against Old Night. Many new vampires are driven to horrific deeds because they have no other choice. If those who were unwilling could be cured…", he tightly clasped his gnarled hands, "...ah, but I get ahead of myself. First, you will describe the ritual to me. Then, you will show me the ritual space. That is when I will make my judgement. You understand?"

"Of course. Please, follow me. I will explain on the way downstairs." Isabel motioned for them to follow.

Isabel began discussing the finer details of her ritual. Much of it was lost on Weilstadt, but Hartwin seemed to understand it much better. They went down into a pretty typical cellar with the expected storage shelves and a few barrels. It was when Isabel pressed a few bricks in the wall that the anomaly was shown. The wall slid open, revealing a circular room with a low ceiling beyond. Isabel led the way inside, revealing it to be something of a workshop. Along the rounded wall, there were workstations for alchemy, for tinkering with equipment, even a slab table for strapping down and dissecting monsters. An eleven foot circle was drawn in white paint in the room's center, with eleven candles placed around its circumference. Weilstadt did not recognize any of the sigils drawn in the center of the circle, but they did not hurt his eyes to gaze upon, which was usually what a lot of necromantic or Chaotic symbols did to people.

"...and at that point, I shall drink the concoction, which will be what opens my body to having my spirit and life essence fully returned to it. That is where you will come in." Isabel was saying, "you will perform the rite Morrite's use to put souls to rest, but you will do the steps in reverse. What would normally put a soul into its final peace will instead draw my soul back into my body."

Hartwin looked over the ritual circle as he listened. "There are risks here, Izzy. Great risks. What would happen if something other than _your _soul returns to your body?"

"You will know my soul, Uncle. It will be a relatively simple matter", Isabel assured him. "Imagine it; the Monte family finally finding the cure for vampirism. No longer will we have to toil in obscurity, unthanked and unrecognized by the Empire we had shed our blood for, while the Witch Hunters of Warrior Priests of Sigmar receive every last shred of credit. Imagine the prestige that will follow, perhaps even official sanction from the Emperor himself when we present our findings. There is great risk, I know. But that is the lot of the Monte family. Our entire existence is rooted in taking risks against great odds, is it not?"

Hartwin held his chin. Weilstadt couldn't tell what the man wanted. It seemed Hartwin himself didn't know that either. He may have been a priest of Morr, he may have once been a Black Guard, but before either of those things, he was a Monte.

"Herr Weilstadt", Hartwin said quietly.

"Aye?" Weil asked.

"You will stand outside the ritual space and keep your weapon trained on Isabel. If I give you the order to fire your weapon, you will do so without hesitation. You understand?" Hartwin left hanging in the air what would happen to Weil if he did not do as he was told.

Weilstadt looked at Isabel. There was no anger. There was no sadness, either. In fact, for the first time since he had known her, all Weil saw was fear.

"I understand", Weilstadt said all the same, reminding himself of what Isabel was capable of.

"We begin soon, then", Isabel told them. "I must prepare."

* * *

Carmina frowned as she stood outside the abandoned warehouse. A dead State Trooper was wedged into the door by his own halberd, his corpse already attracting flies. Carmina pulled the halberd free, letting the corpse fall to the ground.

"These boys do so love their pointy sticks", the vampiress quipped as she dropped the halberd to the ground. She entered the warehouse.

Corpses were strewn through the debris and detritus within. Including the dead man at the door, Carmina counted thirteen corpses. Her new pet certainly was an enthusiastic one. Too enthusiastic, in fact.

"Tane, darling, you're clearly unused to this", Carmina said as she approached the kneeling form of her new wight.

Tane was on both knees. Her swords, both encrusted with blood, rested on her left side.

"I pity the person that has grown used to being compelled by a blood drinking fiend like you", Tane replied in her gentle, low voice.

"Tsk tsk tsk, oh, Tane. You really should drop the attitude", Carmina tut-tutted, pacing around the ronin. "Learn to enjoy your work. You'll have eternity to perfect being a warrior. Is that not what you crave?"

"Not like this", Tane seethed.

"Ugh. You young people. So ungrateful. You'd ask for wine and complain it was wet", Carmina rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You have made me regret giving you such a long leash. If you want even a modicum of freedom from now on, you'll have to perform adequately this evening."

Tane bared her teeth. Her strong sense of self was keeping her from giving in to the bestial urges of the necromantic energies keeping her alive. That would fade with time. Carmina smiled her fanged smile at the thought of see this pompous ronin slowly start to feel her center slipping away and being unable to do anything about it.

"What must I do?" Tane finally asked.

"We have to pay a visit to someone", Carmina answered, surveying the warehouse once more, "my dearest sister is having a get together at her home…"

Carmina reached out with her magic. The dead State Troops twitched and juddered, slowly beginning to rise from the dead. Even as they rose, Carmina's magic created illusions over them, keeping bloodstains and ghastly wounds from view. It wouldn't hold up to scrutiny during the day, but in the dead of night? That was another story.

"...and I would certainly hate for her to have a shortage of guests", Carmina said, giggling to herself.

* * *

Isabel had changed into a robe made natural fibers that left very little to the imagination. She stood in place at the center of the ritual space. Hartwin was standing with the toes of both of his feet six inches away from the first candle in the circle. What made that specific candle the first one was beyond Weil's comprehension but he decided it was alright that this wasn't an area of expertise for him.

When the clock hit the eleventh hour, Isabel began chanting. They were words in some arcane language, a dribble of nonsense to Weil's ears. Every five-and-a-half minutes, Hartwin lit one of the candles around the rim of the ritual space. After he lit the fourth candle, Weil felt the hairs on his arms stand up. After the fifth one, an odd odor began tickling Weil's nostrils; the stench of the grave. The sixth brought distant voices to the edges of Weil's hearing, the seventh increasing them in volume.

This was wrong. This was all wrong. It had to be. Weilstadt had been wanting to believe all this time that Isabel's intentions were pure. Even if they were, who could ever claim to be in _control _of something like this. His crossbow, pointed squarely at Isabel's back, wavered as the temptation to pull the trigger grew stronger and stronger.

When Hartwin lit the eighth candle, a slight breeze began blowing through the secret chamber. Isabel's chanting grew louder, now a repetition of the same few sentences in sequence, over and over again. The ninth candle brought little change, save to make Isabel's voice a little more tinny and harsh. Hartwin moved on to the tenth candle, and as the taper lit the wick, Isabel reached beneath her robe, producing a vial of sludgy, greenish liquid. So, there it was. The very potion whose acquisition had gotten Weilstadt and Aclan mixed up in this mess in the first place. Isabel uncorked the vial, tossing the cork from the ritual space, then drank the mixture.

The vampiress coughed a retched several times, clutching her throat. The wind picked up, tugging at Weil's hair, knocking a few things from Isabel's desks.

"Izzy…!" Hartwin started to say.

"Do. Not. Stop!" Isabel roared. She began chanting something new at an incredibly fast pace, raising her hands in the air and making signs with her hands in rapid succession. The words were so fast, yet Weilstadt could swear he recognized at least one word. He listened closely, but each time the word went by it faded from his understanding like the fleeting images of a dream one just woke up from.

The midnight bell tolled.

Hartwin lit the final candle, tossed the taper away, then put his hands together and visibly focused his willpower. The little flames of the candles flared up as miniscule stars as Hartwin's chanting clashed with Isabel's. The wind became a hurricane. Weilstadt had to lean against it just to keep his footing.

The candles went out with one last violent gust of wind. Everything was still.

Weilstadt panicked in the pitch black of the room. He backed up until his felt his back touch a wall, aiming blindly into the darkness.

"L-Lady Isabel?" Weil asked. "Brother Hartwin?"

The blackness crept away as an amethyst light ever so slowly came into being. It formed in the air between Isabel and Hartwin, silently taking a humanoid shape. Weil's mouth hung open. Was that it? Could that be Isabel's spirit?

Then, Isabel spoke a single word. As it reached his ears, Weilstadt realized it was the word he'd been certain he was hearing during the ritual. Several connections were made in Weil's mind in rapid succession and it finally dawned on him that he had been wrong about Isabel from the very beginning.

By then, it was far too late.

* * *

Leonhardt heard nothing of the ritual going on below his feet. While secretly, the Black Guard wondered what exactly was the reason for being here, it was not his place to question the wisdom of such a respected veteran of Morr's templars like Brother Hartwin Monte. So, Leonhardt silently stood guard beside his comrade, Waldemar.

The Black Guards were both alerted at once as a group of State Troops came walking down the street to their left. To anyone else, it would just look like a standard patrol of halberdiers that had apparently gotten a little drunk while on duty. Leonhardt knew well the telltale signs of the unquiet dead, however, and he could tell that's precisely what was approaching them. What's more, they were clearly under the fine control of a nearby necromancer, given how they were relatively steady.

So, _this _was why Brother Hartwin had wanted them here. Truly, the elder Brother's foresight was impressive. Clutching his scythe, Leonhardt stepped out into the street to face the zombies.

"Brother", Waldemar spoke up.

Leonhardt looked back. There was a solitary figure in the street beyond Waldemar. Whoever they were, they wore ruined lamellar armor and had a blade of red steel in either hand.

"I shall dispatch this one", Waldemar said.

"I will aid you posthaste." Leonhardt declared stoically. "But we must remain and guard the door."

"Correct", Waldemar said.

The illusion around the zombies dropped, revealing them for the corpses they were. Leonhardt resisted the urge to turn and aid his comrade as Waldemar's scythe met the swords of the red armored wight. Instead, Leonhardt parried the halberd of the first zombie, his scythe slicing an icy path through the air as the blessed silver decapitated the undead.

The din of combat was much too distracting for either templar of Morr to see the shape that leapt from a rooftop across the street from the target house. The graceful figure clung to the sill of a second story window and used unnatural strength to pry it open from the outside, slipping into the house.

Leonhardt was surprisingly fleet of foot in his full suit of blackened steel. He dodged around the clumsy strikes of the zombies, his scythe felling fiend after fiend. What blows did strike him were fouled by his armor, the zombies not strong or smart enough to use their halberds to their full armor crushing potential.

As the last zombie fell, Leonhardt turned around to help Waldemar. Leonhardt saw two things. The first was Waldemar lying in the street amid an ever widening pool of blood. The second was the point of a crimson sword slipping into the visor of Leonhardt's helmet.

That latter thing was the last sight Leonhardt would ever see.

* * *

_Malfalto._

That was the word Isabel had said. It was the name of the vampire that had sired her.

When Isabel said her master's name, the spirit that was most certainly not hers rushed forward and overtook Hartwin. The Morrite priest cried out, thrashing, beginning to scratch and tear at his own skin. Isabel grabbed him and hauled him into the ritual circle as Weilstadt finally broke from his shock and fired a silver bolt. The quarrel rebounded off of an invisible barrier that shimmered and rippled under the impact.

Isabel let out an agonized scream, as if forcing herself to sink her fangs and begin drinking her uncle's blood. The pall of amethyst energy that had shrouded Hartwin slowly began worming its way over to Isabel, sinking into her skin.

Weilstadt drew his spatha and approached the barrier. He started hacking at it, hoping the blade's enchantment that aided in its penetration of armor might help it breach the arcane shield. No such luck.

"Isabel! Don't do this! Isabel!" Weilstadt cried out.

As if to drive the point home, a single bloody tear leaked from the corner of Isabel's eye even as she continued to drain the life from her kin.

"Liar! Traitor! You fucking murdering beast!" Weilstadt bellowed as he continued hacking at the barrier. "You're everything you hate! You're worse than Carmina! Worse than your sire! Worse th-..."

It happened so quickly that Weil could barely believe it. One moment Isabel was holding her dying uncle. The next, the vampiress had crossed the space between herself and Weil before Hartwin's body had even hit the floor.

Weilstadt was lifted off his feet, sent flying across the room to crash through a work bench.

"I don't expect you to understand", Isabel's voice was hollow. "By subsuming my old master's power, I have become more effective at battling the forces of Old Night than a dozen of my family members combined. My soul was damned the moment I became a vampire. Even if I could turn back, that stain will never go away. So, I will make use of this evil for the greater good. I will become a scourge upon vampires like this world has never seen", she looked down at her hands, "I never would have achieved this without you, Herr Weilstadt. For that reason alone, I will let you live. Do not pursue me. I will not extend this courtesy again."

With that, she left a stunned Weilstadt half-buried in debris.

* * *

Carmina crept through Isabel's house. What a quaint little dwelling. She hoped her sister wouldn't be terribly offended by the dead maid Carmina had left in the upstairs hallway. Isabel would just have to have her maid clean it up...oh, right, she couldn't. Carmina laughed at her own mental joke.

The vampiress didn't make a single sound as she descended the stairs to the ground floor. She could feel the familiar touch of necromancy in the air, but it was altered. It was somehow cleaner, it seemed. Ah, there it was. Isabel had used Amethyst Magic. The Wind of Shyish, also known simply as Death Magic, brushed shoulders with necromancy but was not, in and of itself, a part of that "black magic." Isabel had used Shyish to mask the "scent" of her necromantic magic. It was, frankly, impressive. Carmina had never expected her brood sister to pull off such arcane feats.

_I will have to torture the secret out of her. _Carmina thought gleefully as she hit the ground floor and turned the corner to head for the basement.

There was Isabel. Carmina's sister was almost naked, her robe barely clinging to her. Something about her was off. Different.

"Were you expecting me, sister?" Carmina asked girlishly. "Have no fear, I have final-..."

Isabel was upon her.

Carmina was blindsided, a blow to her face laying Carmina out. Carmina tried to get up, but Isabel reached down, grabbing a handful of Carmina's shirt. Isabel slammed her sister into the wall with enough force to splinter wood. Before Carmina could recover, Isabel hurled her across the hall, once again breaking the wall. Carmina hit the floor, far from finished. She summoned her magic, casting a black bolt of entropic energy at her sister.

Isabel batted the spell aside like swatting a fly. The bolt struck the ceiling and rotted the wood in a one-foot radius to nothing in moments.

Carmina was punched in the gut and knocked back into the wall again. This time she was smashed through it, tumbling through a simple dining room, upending a table destroying a couple chairs. The Bretonnian vampiress tried to get up again, but her Imperial counterpart turned into a cloud of mist, passing through the hole Carmina had left behind and reforming just in time to stomp on Carmina's back.

Isabel's foot kept coming down. Carmina screeched as she felt bones breaking in her back. The stomping ceased, but fire cascaded up through Carmina's back as two clawed hands ripped through her and took hold of her spine. The Bretonnian had just enough presence of mind to summon Tane for help.

It was far too late.

Over Carmina's piteous cries, Isabel said, "goodbye, sister." There was no hatred or anger. It was a simple expression of parting. That made it all the more terrible to Carmina for some reason. One of the hands came free from Carmina's back and took hold of her head.

Bone crunched. Flesh ripped.

Isabel tore Carmina's head clean from her body, then pulled out her spine. The Bretonnian's screams were silenced.

* * *

Tane came running into the room, the last compulsion of her mistress bidding her to attack Isabel. Isabel overcame Carmina's hold on Tane with ease, breaking the ronin's will and bending it to Isabel's service.

"No...no! Please!" Tane lamented. She collapsed to the floor, prostrating herself as if begging. "Let me die. KILL ME!"

"Eventually", Isabel promised. "For now, I have use for you. Those blades of yours will be useful against the vampires we will be hunting. Rise, Kakita-san. Grovelling is unbecoming of a warrior."

Tane did as she was commanded. She followed Isabel outside. The vampiress looked at the carnage in the streets. Both Black Guards had been slain with damage to the brain. Unfortunate.

"Collect Carmina's remains. Burn them to ash. Scatter the ashes into the River Reik", Isabel decided. "Hm. I shall have to burn this house down, actually. Hopefully Herr Weilstadt will make it out in time. It would be a pity for him to die here. Get to it, Kakita-san. We have much to do."

Unable to resist the command, Tane trudged into Isabel's house.

"So very much to do…", Isabel repeated.

* * *

Karolina von Bauman was sound asleep in her four poster bed. She snored; something that used to embarrass her. The Lady von Bauman was still, apparently sleeping quite peacefully. She had reason to, after all. Her greatest source of stress, her father's illness, had been solved. Isabel's world had gone back to how it had always been. That was excepting, of course, the addition of her new relationship with Weil.

A knocking at Karolina's door awoke her with a rather undignified snort. The noblewoman roused and lifted herself up from her pillow.

The knocking happened again.

"_My lady, are you awake?" _The voice of Immaneul, one of the night guards, asked through the door.

"I am. What is it?" Karolina asked.

"_It's...sir, just a…"_

The door swung inward. Karolina's breath caught in her throat.

A soot stained man entered the room. The stink of burnt wood trailed in with him. As he walked toward the bed, he began leaving a trail of weapons and pieces of armor behind him.

"I was wrong", Weil's words were almost impossible to hear.

"Immanuel, you may leave", Karolina ordered as she climbed out of bed. Frankly, she didn't much care if the guard saw her in her nightgown.

"My lady, are you sure that's…?"

"Look in my eyes and ask me if I give a fuck about propriety right now", Karolina snapped, scathing Immanuel with a fierce look.

Immanuel let out a quiet, "eep", and closed the door.

Karolina started helping Weil out of his gear without being prompted. The battered and grimy Sewer Jack stood there and let her, his eyes a thousand yards away.

"What's wrong, Weil?" Karolina asked as gently as she could.

"I was wrong", he repeated.

"Wrong about what, love?" Karolina asked as she took off the gambeson Weil wore beneath his breastplate. A mess of parchment, some of it half burnt, scattered across the floor. That was a question for later.

She took him by the arm, guiding him over to the fireplace that was currently alive with fire, warming the bedroom. There was only one chair there, so Karolina sat him down there. She dragged another chair away from her window. Theoretically it was there for her to sit in and read, but Karolina couldn't remember the last time she'd used it. The noblewoman placed the second chair beside Weil, who was staring into the flames.

"Isabel", Weil finally answered. "I'm a fool. She never wanted to be cured. She played me like the world's dumbest fiddle."

"What did she do?" Karolina prompted. She ran her hand across Weil's shoulder, uncaring over the soot getting on her white nightgown as she leaned into him and took his hands in hers.

"What I should have expected from her from the start", Weil replied, closing his eyes. "But I was too focused on being the hero that redeemed a monster and helped find a cure for vampirism", he shook his head, sniffling. "I'm not a hero. I'm an idiot. I'm a bloody fucking failure."

"Oh, Weil", Karolina felt her heart sink. She'd never seen him look so defeated. "You are _not _an idiot or a failure. You're only human and you wanted to believe things would work out alright." She gave his hands a reassuring squeeze. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"There is if I let it get in the way of what reality's clearly trying to tell me", Weil countered.

"Maybe so", Karolina agreed, deciding to change tactics. "So, are you going to move forward only expecting the worst now?"

Weil looked over at her, a little confused. His eyes were beginning to water.

"Well, are you?" Karolina asked again. "Or are you going to take this lesson to heart without letting it break your spirit? Are you going to let this be the end or are you going to recover your footing, track that traitorous bitch down, and make her pay for whatever it is that she did?"

The Sewer Jack let out a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. He put his forehead against Karolina's shoulder. The Lady von Bauman shifted in her seat so she could put her arms around Weil.

"I'm sorry", Weil murmured in a tight voice.

"Shhh. It's alright" Karolina assured him, stroking his back. "You can let it out, if you need to. Whatever you need, I'm here for you."

Weil's shoulders shook as he started to cry. Karolina remained with him, already settled on staying there for however long he needed.

* * *

_What more need be said?_

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: the Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Part 9: A Spirit Sanguine."_


	13. Interlude: The Opening Moves

Hoch Monte stirred as the howling wind whipped fat, icy flakes of snow against his window. His quill ceased its meandering path down the paper in front of him. Beside him, a wax candle gently danced as it illuminated the missive he was sending. The Montes did not always engage the forces of Old Night themselves. A simple message to a noble, a Witch Hunter, a templar order, could see a creature destroyed without a Monte present.

How Hoch related with the candle before him. It burned against the darkness. That was its entire purpose, once lit by another. Montes were often born burning against Old Night, a flame stoked by the family members already alive. One day, though, every candle burned down to nothing. All one could do was hope they had ignited those that would sustain the light.

Count Hoch Monte showed his age, and his profession. He did not have many visible scars, but no one carried such weight in their eyes by keeping books for a living.

"Hoch. Come to bed", his wife, Countess Andrea, murmured sleepily from the king-sized bed across the room. "You'll work yourself to death."

"Sigmar willing", Hoch mouthed to himself. To his wife, he replied with the last few strokes of his quill, "shortly. I'm going to the kitchen to settle my stomach. I forgot to eat dinner."

Andrea grumbled something, displeased with Hoch's inattentiveness. She rolled over and turned her back on her husband. The life of the Monte family had never meshed with Andrea, its realities never truly sinking in. A blessing in disguise for her, really, given how peacefully she slept at night. The political and financial gains from Hoch's marriage to her paid dividends to this day. Hoch didn't care about love anymore. Not after Johanna's death. There was no room for such a frivolity in his life.

The patriarch of the Monte family threw on a thick robe and padded out into the hallway of the keep with his candle holding in his hand, his stomach rumbling as he did. At all times, he had two stakes in a special sheathe on his thigh; one silver, one ash wood. They were against his leg so much he barely felt them anymore. He passed through a hallway of guest rooms and could hear several family members sleeping. With Mondestille past, the winter rest period many vampire hunters took was over. It was a Monte tradition for the family to gather and feast. What a feast it had been.

Hoch wandered down towards the kitchens through one of the back stairwells of the central keep, yawning as he went. Monte Keep was an unforgiving place, a stark place, one that did not give consideration to the comforts and constitutions of those not ready to give their all in the eternal battle against the darkness. Another point of contention in Hoch's marriage. Andrea was altogether too fond of trying to "spruce the place up."

The kitchens were cold and dark. Hoch set his candle down on the counter in the kitchen's center where the cook did his preparations. There were cold leftovers from dinner all scraped into a pot alongside bread crusts, fatty or gristly cuts of meat, and the like. It would be pounded and churned and mixed with water and salt into one consistency, then scooped and rolled balls, and finally baked. The "Monte Ration" was a familiar meal for vampire hunters on the first mornings of their many hunts. Waste not, want not.

Hoch was not delicate and was far beyond the need to keep up appearances, especially when he was alone. He stood over the pot of leftovers and began picking bits out, idly snacking on them. Morsels of cold chicken and vegetables were a delicacy by convenience alone when compared to foraging out in the wild. Hoch picked up a kitchen knife and started sorting through the sludge in the pot with it. Andrea would ream him if she knew he was being such a slob. He'd tell her to bring him a dozen vampire fangs then she can judge his eating habits.

There was a noise. The candle flickered. Hoch pretended not to notice it, but he knew at once he was being stalked. There was something about vampires that was simply _wrong._ Some were more sensitive to it than others. Hoch's long experience with them was enough to build sensitivity.

How had they gotten past the defenses? The house was warded heavily so that no vampire could enter, and the guards had been trained by Hoch himself.

After plucking out a slice of carrot, Hoch steadied himself, followed the feeling, and hurled the knife behind him. The one silently stalking him barely moved their head aside. The knife whizzed passed their head, _thunking _into the wall.

"You've not yet lost your edge", said a woman's voice that Hoch could never forget.

"Isabel", Hoch breathed, feeling all the weight of the world settle on his shoulders. "I had wondered why your letters home stopped."

"Oh, it did not stop my letters until recently, father", Isabel informed him. Hoch could see her face in the candlelight. She did not look as old as she should.

"How did you get in?" The patriarch inquired.

"How else? I was invited", Isabel said matter-of-factly. "Not that you would have noticed the change even if I risked just walking in while everyone was awake."

"Don't be petulant", Hoch lectured his daughter. "I received word about Hartwin. Your doing, I should guess?"

"Yes", was the simple answer.

"You think you have it in you to kill your own father, Isabel? Are you that beastly now?" Hoch played for time, trying to think of a plan.

"Uncle Hartwin was more of a father to me than you ever were", Isabel seethed, a fell light dancing behind her eyes. "I mourn him still. You? Perhaps I'll shed a single tear for the fact that I didn't take the arrogant wind out of your sails sooner."

"If you kill me, you'll never leave here alive. I'll wake the rest of the family", Hoch warned, hand closing around the silver stake.

"Yes, the fabulous Monte winter feast", Isabel pursed her lips, shaking her head. "Why do you think I chose tonight to come here?"

"You're alone", Hoch countered. "You might have gotten through the wards, but no other undead will."

"Correct", Isabel agreed with a slight nod. "Tell me, father...how many of our family are buried in the crypts below the keep? You know. The ones we've been filling with our dead since the Vampire Wars."

Hoch felt his eyes bulge. Those corpses had been sanctified. But, if anyone would know how to defile and raise them, it would be another Monte.

"Our familial ties compel me to extend a single offer to you. Join me in hunting the beasts of Old Night in a new, more effective fashion, or die." Isabel explained, putting one hand on her hip and even looking bored.

"We both know my answer to that", Hoch told her.

Isabel moved at once. Hoch predicted her path, driving his silver stake through the palm of the clawed hand that would have disembowled him. Isabel shrieked, hurling her father across the room.

Hoch struck the wall, grunting and falling onto a pile of vegetable sacks. Thinking quickly, he reached into one of the sacks and produced a white bulb. Isabel was stopped dead a mere foot away as Hoch held the garlic in her face. Again, the vampire hunter wounded his daughter, stabbing her in the leg as he got to his feet and trying to stake her heart a moment later.

Hoch's attack passed through thin air as Isabel became a cloud of mist. When she reformed, Isabel suddenly had a hold of Hoch's wrist that held his stake. With a rough twist, Hoch's wrist was broken and he dropped his weapon. Roaring in pain and fury, he tossed the garlic clove in Isabel's face, leaving a searing, smoking welt on her cheek. Hoch was released. He grabbed his ashwood stake as Isabel recovered and leapt at him.

Hoch was borne to the ground, feeling the unmistakable, agonizing sensation of his throat being ripped open even as his wooden stake breached Isabel's torso.

He missed her heart by scant inches.

The vampire hunter hit the floor, choking and sputtering, defiantly clinging to life even as it quickly bled out of him.

"I was considering making you a wight", Isabel gasped. She ripped the ashwood stake from her chest with a rough grunt. "I don't think I'll be doing that. I think you'll be just another zombie along with the rest of the family. You'll be helping me one way or another, father. How ironic that you'll be doing it for the first time after you're dead."

Hoch could not reply. His vision faded to black as Isabel left the kitchen.

Isabel waited in the main yard outside the central keep of Castle Monte. Around her, a score of freshly raised zombies and skeletons alike unsteadily stood around. The vampiress had expected to feel...something for her erstwhile family. She had been wrong. Her step-mother had resented her. Father had always expected more from her. Only Uncle Hartwin had been worthy of love. That Hartwin's corpse was ash now showed Isabel's reverence for him.

Isabel considered the book in her hands. She had taken it from one of the family vaults in the depths of the crypts. It was too time consuming and dangerous to break the anti-undead wards on all of them, but this book would be worth it. The mouldering tome, a nameless volume from a mad necromancer in a time before even Sigmar was born, held secrets that would propel Isabel to be the scourge of all vampires.

Tane walked out of the keep, striding down the stairs and flicking blood from her katana.

"It's done", the ronin wight informed her mistress. "The keep is devoid of life." A small mob of zombies shuffled after her. Among them were Hoch and his second wife, Andrea.

"Good work." Isabel said. "We shall be leaving now."

"Should we not fortify ourselves here?" Tane asked.

"No. Not all the Montes are dead. Some are abroad. Not to mention random visitors from the surrounding lands. We risk discovery before the time is right if we remain", the vampiress said. She compelled her horde to begin leaving the keep, heading for the depths of the Reikwald forest. "We have a better destination in mind."

Weilstadt sighed, dropping the notes he was looking at. He may have loved reading, but not like this. He turned to the lukewarm cup of tea beside him and downed it. He hated tea, usually, but Baron von Bauman's maids were simply too nice for Weil to turn it down.

The pages Weil had salvaged from Isabel's house had been a slapdash collection. The Sewer Jack had figured that at least _some _of them might be useful. The notes were encoded, sadly, and Weil couldn't make heads or tails of them. Across from him, Aclan was having about the same amount of luck.

The core issue was the manner of how they had obtained the notes. They were from a vampire's collection. Dependent on the knowledge contained in them, the very act of possessing the notes could get everyone in House von Bauman a trip to the gallows or the pyre. So, they could not rely on Imperial scholars or the Templar-Investigators of Verena. Karolina was off with Captain Locke, meeting with someone recommended on the sly by one of Baron Bruno's hunting friends.

In the meantime, all Weil could do was compare pages and try to find connections. It would not be happening anytime soon. He loved libraries, but the library of House von Bauman was rapidly becoming a place of mental oppression. Would that crossbow bolts and witty remarks could solve this problem.

"Hoethe's grace, what madness", Aclan complained, rubbing his eyes. "Isabel will be the new Countess of Sylvania by the time we decipher these."

"'Least we'll know where to find her, then", Weil grunted.

"Silver lining behind every cloud, I suppose", Aclan said, yawning and stretching in his seat. "Why haven't we gone to House Monte for aid yet?"

"Lina didn't tell you?" Weil asked.

"Tell me what?"

"They sent riders there. Keep was empty, halls and bedrooms bloody. Isabel already hit them."

Aclan cursed in Eltharin, then in Reikspiel, "if some of the finest vampire hunters in the Empire failed to kill her, then we will have to take extra care."

"Already planned on it, mate", Weil said. Wearily, he picked up the notes again and went back to work.

Just then, the door to the library burst open. Karolina hurried in, still bundled up against the winter chill outside.

"We've got it! Herr Leichten cracked the cipher!" Karolina exclaimed, hurrying to the table. "He gave me a reference sheet here, you just need to…"

The Lady von Bauman launched into an explanation of how the notes could be decoded. Before long, the three of them were transcribing pages as fast as they could into proper Reikspiel. It had been afternoon when they started. The trio worked into the night, barely stopping to eat. However, their work was eventually done.

What they found was less than heartening. Compiling the evidence, they awoke the Baron and Captain Locke.

"Mitterfruhl", Bruno was saying, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "The Equinox."

The Baron, his daughter, and the captain of his guard were gathered in the Baron's study with Weil and Ac. Von Bauman was still in his night clothes, sleeping cap and all. He scratched his head with his metal hand, looking down at the findings on the desk before him.

"Aye. Two and a half months from now, on the Spring Equinox, the stars will be properly aligned for Isabel's plan", Weilstadt summarized. "Once Mitterfruhl rolls around, Isabel will be able to raise the mass graves around the abandoned castle of Siegmeyerschloss."

"Thousands upon thousands of fighters from both sides of the Vampire Wars were buried there", Isabel pitched in from her father's shoulder, pointing at the papers. "Isabel has developed a ritual to raise them all at once."

"To what end?" Bruno asked as he gaped at the idea. "I thought she wanted to hunt vampires."

"We haven't found a specific reference as to why this is her chosen method, my lord", Aclan said. He was prodding the fireplace with a fire poker. "She certainly will be a formidable foe against any vampire with her new power and an army of undead to match. I suspect, however, that she won't stop there. I believe no army will be large enough to satisfy her desire for servants against Old Night. No army but one."

Aclan let the silence hang in the air.

"...Altdorf", Captain Locke realized, growing pale.

"I fear that's so", Aclan confirmed. "It makes sense. Could she take the city? Who knows. Perhaps she could. Or she might ravage the countryside, overtaking smaller cities like Bogenhofen, Ubersreik, and Helmgart. Whichever way it's looked at, we must stop this ritual. Furthermore, we cannot count on the State Army to help until after the undead are raised, much as we couldn't go to the authorities for help with the deciphering."

"Doesn't exactly leave us many options", Karolina noted, crossing her arms.

"Who knows how many undead Isabel's raised to protect Siegmeyerschloss? Even sparing all the house guards I can, it might not be enough to take the castle. We'd need an army", Bruno mused. "Weil, you look thoughtful. What is it?"

Weilstadt was leaning on the back of one of the chairs across from Bruno. A thought had struck him. It was either foolish or brilliant.

"I know where we can get an army", Weil murmured.

Everyone else in the room waited.

"Ac, how many folks have we interacted with while wandering around like a couple of jackasses?" Weil asked rhetorically. "Grafin Kreiche, Lady Inryla, Thane Othri; that's just a few. We have two months and some change. We send for every possible ally we can summon. Baron, you can contact your old war buddies and fellow lords you think you can trust", Weil clenched a fist, "we need an army? We'll put together our own, offering the treasures still in the closed vaults of House Monte as a reward."

"Weil, you'll be asking a lot of very different people to work together…", Karolina pointed out.

"I'll make that plain to them in the letters, then", Weil said, his exhaustion fading as the idea took firm hold of him. "Isabel will be on high alert, but will be distracted on the night of the ritual. That's when we'll strike with whatever force we've managed to gather, all or nothing. If we fail, then Baron Bruno can inform the State Troops."

The other occupants of the room considered this idea. Weil knew it was half-cocked. No one else was saying a better one, though.

"Suppose I'll be needing to buy more ink in the morning", Bruno decided. "If our course is set, I'm going back to bed."

"Sorry for waking you, sir", Weil apologized.

"Ah, was for a good cause. You young'uns should get some rest, too", Bruno said, shrugging his shoulders as he tottered off to bed, leaving the room with Captain Locke right behind.

"...I'm a century older than him", Aclan muttered.

"Let him have this, Ac", Weil said with a chortle.

"He has been a gracious host, if nothing else." Aclan sighed as he made his own way out.

As Weil watched his elven friend go, he said, "right. Time to get to work."

"Oh no you don't", Karolina said, coming around the desk to grab Weil by the shoulder and stop him. "You're going to bed and starting this tomorrow."

"But…", Weil started to protest.

"But nothing, Sir Knight. You'll not be of use to anyone if you exhaust yourself this early in the game", Karolina lectured, beginning to guide him toward the door. "You're going to get some sleep, you're going to eat a good breakfast in the morning, and _then _you're going to assemble an army of misfits to topple the evil vampiress bent on death and destruction."

Weilstadt wasn't sure how to feel about being ordered around after making his own decisions for so long. Common sense said Karolina was right. Weil felt awake now, but that wouldn't last long, and he'd need his wits about him composing letters and keeping alert for possible attacks from Isabel.

"I should probably get used to not being able to resist you, shouldn't I?" Weil asked his paramour.

"Correct", Karolina replied, giving him a consolatory kiss on the cheek. "But I promise I'll be nice about ordering you around."

"I'll take what I can get", Weil settled, putting his arm around Karolina and heading for bed.


	14. We Brave Few, We Happy Few

_There were many words I could have used to describe it. A reckoning. A conclusion. A finale. None would be quite right. The deception of Lady Isabel Monte was coming to its inevitable end one way or another._

_We sent messages all across the Old World, making a few visits in person. Baron von Bauman called in every favor and contacted every old friend he had, mustering as much support as possible. We dared not risk contacting the State Army. They'd not believe conclusions drawn from the scattered notes of a vampire. Worse still, if we were arrested or brought to task by the Witch Hunters, there would be no one at all to stop Isabel._

_Mitterfruhl loomed just days away. Our allies gathered. Isabel saw to her own defenses. Perhaps we should have struck sooner, but I knew we needed every possible sword arm. If we attacked too early and failed, all would be lost._

_We would only have one chance. It was up to us. Reikland's fate hung in the balance._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: the Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 10: "At Dawn They Stood Tall."_

* * *

Isabel looked out from the battlements of Siegmeyerschloss. The trees of the Reikwald were almost close enough to reach out and touch from the battlements of the aging castle. Some of her zombies were already dedicated to felling the trees, clearing the land around the castle to prevent any attackers from using it as cover.

All along the wall, zombies and skeletons stood in an endless vigil. The vampiress wished there could be more. Her necromancy was not strong enough to control more than a few hundred undead subjects. Not yet. That would change soon. A few of the corpses were of beastmen that had gotten too curious for their own good.

Not every creature here to guard the keep was under Isabel's control. She had reached out a few tendrils. Undead thralls were all well and good, but one or two thinking individuals would be helpful.

"The repairs to the northeast bastion are finished, mistress", Tane, approaching Isabel from her left.

Isabel nodded silently, staring out at the forest. Would anyone try to stop her, she wondered? Perhaps. Someone for her family might come upon the Monte Keep and follow her trail. There was a slim chance of that, though. Most of her family was dead. Those that remained were small cadet branches, half of whom didn't really take part in the "family business". No, Isabel had slain all her family members that would be an issue. Really, there was only one person that would try to stop her.

"Do you think Herr Weilstadt will come, Kakita-san?" Isabel asked her samurai wight.

"Yes", Tane's rasping answer was simple.

"You simply hope there will be another chance to fight Herr Aclan", the vampiress laughed softly.

This time Tane was the silent one.

"You will. If not here, then later. Have no fear." Isabel said. She turned around, looking at the main body of Siegmeyerschloss. It was an imposing keep, built by some Baron a long time ago to guard over the graves of those that died in the Vampire Wars. Great battles against the undead had been fresh in the minds of many, but that was a long time ago, and the castle had long been abandoned save for bandits or beastmen.

It was not a large fortification. There was a small yard between the semi-circular wall and the central keep. The central keep was ten, maybe more stories tall, commanding a great view of the surrounding forest. It tapered into a narrow, thin spire at its top. Behind the keep were the Grey Mountains, barring passage from the west to the south.

"If this ritual succeeds, I will release you from your bondage", Isabel said to Tane. "You'll be free to seek your vengeance. So, you had best fight hard."

"And you had better keep your end of that statement", Tane swore.

Isabel could hear it in Tane's tone. She intended to kill Isabel when released. How amusing.

"I will be in the ritual space. There is much to prepare", Isabel informed her servant. The vampiress headed across the single walkway that led from above the gatehouse to the third story of the keep. In her bones, she knew Herr Weilstadt would attempt to stop her. She had seen him in action enough to know he did not stop until his aims were achieved or he physically could not continue.

It was a shame Isabel was going to have to kill him.

* * *

The Imperial city of Ubersreik stood at the mouth of Grey Lady Pass, which connected Reikland with the Bretonnian Dukedom of Parravon. As such, it had one of the largest. It was a common destination for Bretonnian peasants on the run from their feudal lords trying to find a new life in the Empire.

Weilstadt waited on the road at the southern gate of the city, sitting on Dust's back. He watched the road that knifed through the mountains, munching on some candied nuts he'd purchased from a vendor on his way through the city at his back.

"Can I have one of those?" Karolina asked at his side. She was sitting on her own horse, Typhoon, right beside Weil and Dust.

"You said you didn't want any when we were at the stall", Weilstadt recalled, popping another morsel into his mouth.

"...I was a different person back then", Karolina said, giving Weil her best doe eyes.

Weil returned her gaze with a pointed look, but held out the little bag of treats all the same. Smiling triumphantly, Karolina fished one of the nuts out and ate it. After two chews, her face turned sour.

"Not fond?" Weil asked, smirking.

"Ech, it turns all...gummy…", Karolina complained. She swallowed, then amended, "thank you all the same, of course."

"Of course", Weilstadt said.

The one they were waiting for finally arrived shortly thereafter.

A column of seventeen riders came up from the road to Bretonnia. Sixteen of them were clearly knights in a blinding array of bright colors and heraldries. At their fore was a fairly young man with a long, reddish brown beard. He was the only one not carrying a lance, and his cobalt blue tabard was devoid of personal heraldry. Weil knew what all that meant. Beside him was a dark-haired, pale maiden in a white gown that rode a bloody unicorn and carried a staff topped with the image of a golden cup. A Grail Damsel.

"Ser Gerard!" Weil called out, raising his hand in greeting. "I see you've undertaken your Grail Quest."

"Herr Weilstadt, _mon ami!_" Ser Gerard d'Terre called back, waving jovially. He guided his company to the side of the road. "You're correct, sir. In fact, I made my Questing Vow the very night I returned home to my father's Earldom. I received a dream from the Lady herself and set off once again the next morning at her behest." He was quite proud of this fact. He turned to the knights following him, "you want to see a hero, lads? I show you one right here", Gerard pointed at Weilstadt, "without this man, the vile Magma Drake of Karak Barid would never have been slain. Think about that next time you disdain a commoner, eh?"

Weil actually felt himself getting a little emotional. Granted, Weilstadt had apologized to Gerard for being so rude and the two had cleared the air between them back then, but this unremitting graciousness was...overwhelming. Surely the knight couldn't have such a positive opinion of Weilstadt?

"Methinks I would be cooked well done if not for you being mad enough to run up and stab the beast", Weilstadt chortled, reaching out and shaking Gerard's hand. "Damned good to see you, Ser Knight, thank you for coming."

"You promised me a grand battle against vile undead, I could not refuse anymore than I could deny these young Knight-Errant from following behind me", Gerard exhorted. "Ah, forgive me, I forget my manners."

Gerard dismounted his horse, walking straight over to Karolina and Typhoon and saying, "my lady, the sun may shine bright on Bretonnia, but it is good to know such a radiant light may shine on our neighbor to the north", he bent at the waist, "Ser Gerard d'Terre, your most humble servant."

Karolina looked like she was stuck between laughing and being flattered. She offered her hand down to him, saying, "Lady Karolina von Bauman. A pleasure to meet you, Ser Knight."

"My lady", he said, kissing the air above the back of her hand. "Herr Weilstadt, my opinion of you was already high, but I can see it must raise further still, that you have the companionship of one so fair."

"Not sure how I managed it. Best not to think on it too hard", Weil laughed. "Who is that you've brought with you, Ser?"

"Ah, stars above; doubly am I rude!" Gerard exclaimed. He tread over to the Grail Damsel and said, "Herr Weilstadt, Lady Karolina, this is Astre l'Nuit, Damsel of the Lady and the most beautiful woman to ever rise from the emerald hills of Bretonnia."

Astre inclined her head, blushing modestly and saying, "Ser Gerard has spoken at length of your valor, Herr Weilstadt. I am glad that we might aid you in your quest against the servants of darkness."

"Not nearly as glad as I am to have you here", Weilstadt enthused. "The battle is a week away yet. We'll make haste for our camp. You'll be among the last people to gather."

Gerard pulled himself back into the saddle, tapping the sides of Tempete, his destier. The column of riders went into Ubersreik.

"What sort of battle will we be facing, Herr Weilstadt? Have you scouted out our target?" The Questing Knight inquired.

"We have, aye. Siegmeyerschloss is old, but we won't have a big force", Weil grew grim. "It's impossible to call."

"It will make the inevitable victory all the sweeter!" Gerard declared with a booming laugh that echoed off the buildings of Ubersreik.

The knight's enthusiasm was infectious. Weil may not have gathered a huge force, but it was diverse and experienced. Isabel would never know what hit her.

* * *

Siegmeyerschloss stood in the territory of one Graf Sonnenfeld. Baron von Bauman knew the Graf only in passing, but thankfully Sonnenfeld was not a buffoon. Sonnenfeld had noticed the disappearances in his lands and had seen an increase in activity from undead creatures. The Graf allowed von Bauman to set up a camp on his lands, near the town of Zweitdorf, and provided some of his own soldiers to aid in the effort against the burgeoning vampiress.

It was to this camp that Weilstadt led Ser Gerard and his retinue. Looking at the camp, one saw a true mess of different kinds of tents, hearing four or five different languages being spoken. The tents were in a rough circle behind an earthen rampart that had been dug at the outset of its creation. Currently, two von Bauman soldiers were guarding the camp's main entrance. One of them was quite familiar to Weil.

"Sir, Count Oberlander's men just arrived an hour ago", Pascal informed the Sewer Jack.

"How many?" Weilstadt asked as he rode by.

"Just nine, sir."

Weil nodded. Beggars couldn't be choosers. Any number was better than zero.

Just inside the rampart, Weil passed by the ten dwarfs sent by Thane Othri from the Border Princes on his right. To the left, the Nordlander, Hektor, was joined by six "mercenary marines", who were currently gambling on some crates and barrels. Hektor himself was inspecting the single cannon he and his men had brought with them. Weil had chosen not to ask how they'd acquired it.

"Ah, good master Hektor, a pleasure to see you well!" Ser Gerard called to the Nordlander.

"Hopefully this'll be easier than the dragon, eh?" Hektor said back, slapping the body of the cannon as he laughed.

They were far from the only ones. Grafin Kreiche had sent six men led by Witz, the captain of her guard. Gardta, the dwarfen Slayer, had promised five her her orange-haired fellows a damn good fight that might well bring them their doom. Even Captain Neuer, Weil's old commander in the Sewer Watch, had shown up with a dozen Sewer Jacks. There were others, mostly humans brought in by Baron von Bauman, bringing the total number of fighters going up against Isabel at Siegmeyerschloss to around three-hundred, supported by two cannons.

Weil rode toward the communal area in the center of the camp. As he neared, he heard a heated argument and frowned.

Gardta was fuming and red in the face, pointing an axe at Aclan and, more importantly, Gweyir. Gweyir had come with several other Lothern Seaguards at Lady Inryla's behest. What she had done to infuriate the dwarf was anyone's guess at the moment.

"I said apologize, _elgi_", Gardta was demanding.

"I'll not be apologizing for something I didn't do, dwarf", Gweyir retorted in a disdainful way. "It isn't my fault that your overblown honor demands you find insult in every puff of breath."

"Overblown honor?!" Gardta bellowed, veins throbbing in her neck.

People were gathering in the camp, watching the conflict start to unfold.

"What the hell is going on here", Weilstadt demanded to know as he rode up and dismounted from Dust's back.

Aclan fielded the question, "Gardta challenged me to a sparring bout. I declined, saying it probably wasn't wise. She informed me that I was a, ah, 'pointy-eared coward who probably couldn't handle a real scrap', apparently forgetting I was present in killing the dragon of Karak Barid. Regardless, I was going to let it go, but Gweyir...did not." He said this last part diplomatically, clearly not wanting to offend his paramour.

"All I said was she'd best go look elsewhere for her pointless battles. Apparently that was some deep insult", Gweyir snipped, glaring at the dwarf opposing her.

"Volker, even now they're insulting me with their every remark, acting all high and mighty and intellectual over we poor, unfortunate lessers", Gardta seethed. "Just let me knock 'em around a little, I probably won't kill them."

"Go ahead and try it…", Aclan snapped.

"_**ENOUGH!**_" Weilstadt roared, feeling his throat go a bit raw as he lifted his voice quite literally as loud as he could. A flock of birds took to wing nearby.

Then, suddenly, all eyes were on him. Weil scowled. Right, then.

"I'm going to be frank", Weil said, looking around at the people surrounding him. "If you can't even manage the simple act of getting the fuck along, leave this camp. Go home. I don't care about what it is you think makes you superior in one way or another. We're all here to work together and stop a vampire for killing thousands of people. We're here to stop a second coming of the Vampire Wars. Gardta", he pointed, "stop looking for reasons to be offended. Fraulein Gweyir", his attention shifted, "start acting like your talking to a person and not an animal when you address the dwarfs", Weil shook his head and let out a rough breath. "Gods bloody save me, we're all adults here. You can kill each other to your heart's content when the fight's done. Until then, I made it clear what the situation in the camp was going to be. Stop acting like children. I'm not asking anyone to apologize just...Ranald's bones, hold it together for a couple more days. Alright? Can we do that?"

Gardta and Gweyir stared each other down for a few moments, then both walked away without another word. Weilstadt rubbed his eyes. He'd been wondering when the clash of cultures was going to cause conflict. Thank the gods he'd made it back in time to defuse things.

"War council in one hour", Weilstadt informed everyone that was watching. He then went to put Dust in the camp's paddock, followed by Karolina. Aclan showed the Bretonnians where they could set up their part of the camp.

"Nothing like the storybooks, is it?" Karolina giggled as she walked Typhoon beside Weil and Dust.

"I'll be damned if it isn't", Weil muttered. "I hope this wasn't a bad idea. Maybe we should have gone to the State Army after all."

"Now's not the time to second guess yourself, love", Karolina advised. "You're here. The commitment has been made. Time spent thinking about 'what ifs' is much better spent thinking on how to make the present situation work instead."

"True. You're right." Weil agreed.

"I usually am", Karolina said with a wink. "You did well, though. You played to your own style of speaking rather than trying to sound more authoritative than you really are."

Weil chuckled, "trust me, it wasn't planned. I was just yelling and hoping it would stick."

"Not every man was born a flowery orator. Sometimes a little swearing does the heart good." Karolina reasoned.

The two of them put their horses up and went to prepare for the war council. Weil hadn't been worried about the plan before, thinking it was simple. If there was already conflict in the camp, though, maybe he needed to reassess that idea.

* * *

The camp didn't really have a command tent, so everyone gathered under an impromptu awning in the center of the camp. There was a table in the middle of the assembly of commanders, upon which was spread an old map of the area around Siegmeyerschloss.

"Alright. Let's get to it", Weil said, pointing at he map. "I don't have a very complex plan in mind. We were lucky enough to get cannons. I saw we use them to smash down the castle gates and take the place by storm."

Captain Locke nodded in agreement, saying, "we don't have the numbers to take losses scaling the walls. My biggest concern is arrows as we bottleneck at the gate. Mademoiselle Astre, would you be able to lend us some cover with magic at all?"

"I believe I do", the Grail Damsel replied. "I shall not be able to shield everyone perfectly, but I should be able to reduce the number of arrows that actually manage to strike home."

"We'll take it", Locke grunted, sounding pleased. "Once we get in there, we'll hold the advantage over those walking corpses on the walls. Sigmar knows what other fiends Isabel has fighting for her."

Gardta boasted in a loud voice, "leave any greater beasts to me and my fellow adherents of Grimnir", she spat on the ground.

From the back of the group, Mavaen added, "my fellow waywatchers and I will lead the archery and suppress the enemies on the walls."

"Good. Good", Weil said, then did a double take, "wait, Mavaen? When did you get here? You said you probably wouldn't be able to make it when I came to recruit you."

Everyone looked back at the cloaked and hooded wood elf, who just shrugged. Gardta and her fellow dwarfs grumbled about flighty _elgi_.

"...anyhow, that will work", Weil said, getting back on track. "We have no idea if they have any cavalry behind those walls, but we'll be counting on Ser Gerard and his fellow knights to counter it if any sally forth."

The young Bretonnian thumped his chest, rattling his half-plate as he said, "I shall send them back to deathly repose where they belong."

Weil nodded his head. "Once the battle starts, I think it's prudent for Captain Locke and Captain Witz to take tactical command of our human forces. Everyone else can consult and coordinate with them, since I have a feeling you won't take kindly to being ordered around by humans."

The general consensus among both elves and dwarves was agreement on that point.

"Other than that, I don't have much." Weil confessed. "This is going to be the biggest fight I've ever been involved in, so that's why I'm not trying to take command when the battle starts. While I have you all here, I want to thank you for answering the call to arms. I know it was a bit of a stretch to ask such a favor of all of you…"

"The promise of gold did a fair amount to get my attention", Hektor declared, his fellow pirates raucously concurring with boisterous laughter.

"Exactly. The treasures of House Monte will be distributed among all of you. I expect a family that's been hunting vampires for over five-hundred years will have some deep vaults." This was something of a guess, but Weil decided to worry about that once the battle was won. "We'll be attacking during the ritual itself so Isabel will be distracted and unable to put her power behind the defense. Hopefully by this time in three days, we'll all be getting plastered at the feast celebrating our victory. Until then, rest up, keep your weapons sharp, and stay vigilant. That's it for me."

With that, Weil left the table, leaving the others to discuss some of the finer points of strategy. The sun was going down, and it had been a hard ride from Ubersreik. Tomorrow would be spent in preparation; crafting arrows and bullets, triple checking equipment, working out battle lines and contingencies. There wouldn't be much rest on anyone's part, Weilstadt guessed. Best to take it where it could be gotten now, then.

Weilstadt entered his tent near the edge of the camp. It was a bit larger than most with room to walk around. The tent had actually belonged to Baron Bruno back in his days as an officer in the State Troopers. Yawning and mumbling to himself, Weil started taking off his armor and setting it on a stand near the entrance of the tent.

It was just as the Sewer Jack had hung his breastplate of dwarf-forged steel on the stand that he realized his oil lamp was already lit. Perplexed, Weil turned around to inspect his tent.

"Shallya's mercy, you really are oblivious, aren't you?" Karolina said from where she sat on Weil's bedroll. The Lady von Bauman was wrapped in a woolen blanket, her pale, freckled shoulders just barely exposed.

"If you think I'm ever going to anticipate a beautiful woman waiting for me in my bed, you've got a lot to learn about me", Weilstadt snorted. Part of him thought this might be a bad idea. Weren't other people in the camp going to hear things?

"I suppose that means I won't have to try very hard to surprise you", Karolina mused. She let go of the blanket, causing it to fall away from her torso, and made a beckoning gesture as she said, "come along, then. It's chilly without this blanket on."

Weil decided he didn't really mind if other people could hear.

* * *

It was the dead of night when Weilstadt woke up to the need to relieve himself. Cursing all the gods for forcing him to leave his bedroll, Weil groaned softly. The camp was quiet, for the most part, though he could here one or two soft voices. Extricating himself from Karolina's grasp, Weil got up from his bedroll. He pulled on his trousers and buckled his spatha around his waist before heading outside. Weil took a short walk to the rampart.

As the Sewer Jack was doing his business, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was a person sitting on top of the wooden wall that topped the rampart around the camp.

"I'm all for narrative parallels", Weil said, still looking straight ahead. "But I have to say, you coming upon me from surprise while I take a piss isn't among my favorites. First time was, what, about two years ago now?"

Lady Isabel Monte nodded and replied, "Yes. Outside the Wolf's Den Inn in Schlagsdorf. I don't believe it's in your nature to be couth, Herr Weilstadt, whether you mean it or not. This is simply a microcosm of that fact."

"Got me there", Weil admitted, pulling his pants back up. "Well, doubt you're here to kill me or you wouldn't have said anything. So, howsabout you get to the point so I can get back to bed?"

"As you wish. I came here because I decided it would be a shame if you threw your life away in a pointless battle against me. Instead, I am going to offer you something I have offered no other." As she said this, Isabel revealed her vampiric fangs. She didn't need to say anything else.

"...really?" Weil flatly asked.

"Why not? How much good do you think you can do in a single lifetime, Herr Weilstadt? How much do you think you could do with an eternity to live and the powers of one of my kind? Think about it."

Weil shook his head, saying, "nah, I don't think I will. Why even offer me this? Looking for a husband or something?"

At this, Isabel actually laughed. "No. Such things have never interested me. Even if they did, forgive my saying it, you are far from what I'd consider an ideal partner to spend unlife with."

Weil made himself belch, then asked, "what makes you say that?" This entire scenario was ridiculous, so he might as well treat it as such.

Narrowing her eyes, Isabel said, "...regardless, I would extend my offer to Lady Karolina, as well."

"You just don't get it, do you, Isabel?" Weil said. He turned to her fully, resting a hand on the hilt of his spatha. "You keep going on about power, about doing good, but what have you done recently except betray your family and raise a bunch of corpses? How many vampires have you hunted and killed in the past three months?"

"It's simply a matter of preparation…", Isabel started to say.

"No. It isn't. You're more arrogant and self-assured than any elf, dwarf, or human I've met. You've given in to your vampiric nature and not even realized it", Weil admonished her. "I will never become like you. Ever. I'd rather you kill me and turn me into a rotting meat puppet."

Raised voices became audible. Footsteps hurried toward the conversation between Weil and Isabel.

"So be it, then. This is the last time we meet peacefully", Isabel informed Weilstadt. With that, she dissipated into a cloud of mist. Just as she did, a silver arrow passed through her misty form and soared out into the forest. The cloud floated away.

"Dammit", Aclan cursed as he trotted up. The elf was still wearing his baggy pajamas. He was trailed by a few others, including some on duty guards. "What was that all about?"

"Just an unwanted solicitor", Weil grunted, turning away from the wall. "I'm going back to bed."

Weilstadt passed by the others and returned to his tent. The commotion had not awoken Karolina. Weil wished she was awake so he could see how the Lady von Bauman would react to an offer of vampirism. Oh well. He'd tell her in the morning.

* * *

Two days later, the motley coalition army gathered. Mitterfruhl, the Spring Equinox, had arrived. From what they had managed to gather from Isabel's notes, the ritual would begin just after sunset and climax at midnight as the seasons turned. Thus, they timed their march to arrive as night fell. However, whether the ritual would raised all the target dead at once or in succession over the course of the spell was a matter for speculation.

The rain poured in sheets as they marched through the Reikwald. Mavaen and the other wood elves leapt from tree to tree, scouting ahead. The rest trudged through the forest, whole teams of men dedicated to hauling the cannons through the sodden terrain. An old road ran from Zweitdorf to Siegmeyerschloss, though it was mostly overgrown.

The boasting and spirited attitude of the previous evening was gone. Everyone in the army knew what was on the line. Though they were drenched, cold, and miserable, the soldiers marched on. As Weilstadt had impressed upon them again and again, the gathered fighters knew that they would be the first and last chance to squelch this plot in its infancy. Each and every member of the army carried a stake of silver or ashwood. A few carried cloves of garlic. Weilstadt had taken the liberty of procuring garlic oil in Altdorf, as well as a holy symbol of Ranald to hang around his neck. The god of luck had seen Weil through a great deal, tested him and blessed him in equal measure. Weilstadt prayed that his patron could spare some attention this dreary day.

Before long, Siegmeyerschloss loomed in the distance, an imposing spike of masonry against the backdrop of the Grey Mountains. Lightning slashed across the sky, casting the great keep in stark light and long shadows for an instant before resuming the sullen darkness of the storm. The trees within one-hundred yards of the keep had been felled, sharpened into stakes, and lined up at the base of the fifty foot walls. From here, Weil could see the unsteady shapes of the zombies manning the walls. Captain Locke had guessed correctly that scaling the walls would be a poor idea.

Captains Locke and Witz began getting the human soldiers into formation, which was little more than two lines with handguns in front, polearms just behind ready to counter any enemy charges, and swordsmen waiting in the wings to fill any gaps in the line. The non-humans, most of them more elite and experienced than their human counterparts, formed up in the center just before the cannons.

Weilstadt stood in front of the army. Even if he wasn't commanding them, he had brought them here. It was by the bonds he'd forged along this life's journey that he'd persuaded them to come to his aid in this most desperate hour. Thus, they looked to him, and Weil recalled the climax of his favorite book. Before the gates of a greenskin infested dwarf hold, Sir Marcellus had made an epic, sweeping speech that extolled the value of courage and reminded those about to fight of the reasons they were going to battle. Should Weil do the same? These are the things Weilstadt wondered to himself as he looked over the warriors arrayed before him. He saw Aclan standing beside Gweyir, the White Lion ever stoic and resolute. His eyes fell upon Karolina, who stared up at Siegmeyerschloss with trepidation, but flashed a confident smile when she noticed Weil looking her direction.

The Sewer Jack thought of the journey that had led him here, beginning with that fateful day in the basement of House von Bauman. Gods, even further back than that. Once, Weil had wanted to be a Herrimault, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, a proper folk hero. He had never been such a thing. Now, he idolized heroic knights such as Sir Marcellus; always composed, always courageous, always eloquent, never doubting or taking a step back. Here Weil was, about to storm a vampire's castle in the pouring rain, wearing dwarf forged armor, draped in a cloak and carrying a sword gifted by a mysterious elf. He had travelled the world, made friends and foes alike, and even slain a bloody dragon, for Ranald's sake.

In all that, Weilstadt had not always been composed, he'd been swept away by emotion more than once. He had not always been courageous, for how often had fear gripped him as he'd simply fought to survive? The matter of eloquence bore no need of mentioning, naturally, nor did being free of doubt, for who could truly say they were? Weil was no heroic knight.

"Fuck Sir Marcellus. I'm bloody Volker Weilstadt", he affirmed to himself, and in that moment he knew exactly what to say. He raised his voice to be heard over the rain and wind, "you all know why you're here", he pointed back at Siegmeyerschloss, "there's a scheming bitch of a vampire behind those walls. The fight's not done until she's dead or we are. Now...bring up those fucking cannons and smash down those gates. There's been enough talk."

There was no resounding cheer. The coalition readied themselves for battle as the two cannons were brought up on the road. Hektor's men and the Border Prince dwarfs began loading the guns, sighting and aiming. One man on each crew shielded the match stick that would light the fuses from the rain. When they were both loaded, Hektor and the lead dwarf both cried, "FIRE!"

Weil covered his ears.

The cannons thundered, jumping back on their wheeled carriages. The cannonballs blew holes in the great doors of wood and iron, shaking them on their hinges. The guns were swabbed and the process of reloading and resighting them began. Up above, at the top of the spire behind the wall, Weilstadt could see violet-white light start to form and flash.

The bombardment took the better part of an hour to finally knock the doors off their hinges. At this, the army cheered.

The cheer was short lived. The gates had barely fallen down before someone rode out of them. A man in baroque, crimson armor spurred on a brutish, red-eyed beast of a horse. He was followed by almost a score of skeletons riding atop skeletal, dessicated mounts. They charged out of the gate but stopped some twenty yards out from it.

"Blood Knight", Weil realized. So, Isabel had managed to get another vampire on her side.

"Do any of you pathetic mortals have the courage to challenge Ser Luquin d'Ragnier?" The Blood Knight called out in a voice that evoked the image of burning sandpaper. "Come forth and meet your death. Let me raise you to fight your fellows after I rip out your hearts." His lance erupted in black fire.

A lone horseman came to the front of the coalition army.

"I am Ser Gerard d'Terre." The Questing Knight cried in return, raising his sword in salute. "In the Lady's name, I accept your challenge, fiend!"

The vampire snarled with delight, tossing away his lance upon seeing Gerard's lack of one, drawing a sword that also became shrouded in black flame. "Then by your leisure, Ser Knight!"

"Ser Gerard, wait!"

Astre rushed to the front of the army, coming to the side of Gerard's horse, Tempete. The Grail Damsel's hand emerged from beneath her white cloak and was placed upon Gerard's sabaton. At once, Gerard's own sword began burning with holy, white fire.

"I suppose I was feeling a tad left out in the 'burning weapon' front", Gerard chuckled, hanging his shield on his back so he might reach down and take Astre's hand. "In each battle, my blade slays for the Lady and for Bretonnia, but my shield...that guards you and only you, my lady."

"I shall be quite pleased should it guard you as well", Astre replied. She produced a white handkerchief and tied it around Gerard's arm. "May the Lady speed you to victory, my knight."

Gerard set his face in a determined grin. He pulled on a bascinet helm and took up his shield once more, rearing Tempete back and roaring, "_pour la Parravon!_" The horse shot forward, galloping down the road toward Luquin.

_Well, that was about the most knightly thing to ever happen in history. _Weilstadt thought to himself.

Luquin spurred his undead mount onward, riding to meet Gerard's challenge. They closed with each other. Two colors of fire exploded as blades clashed against shields. The burning swords caused the rain to sizzle and hiss, leaving a constant mote of steam around them. The two knights created bursts of luminance each time their blades collided with each other.

At one point, Luquin went for Gerard's head. Instead of blocking, Ser Gerard leaned back in the saddle and let the blow pass over him, stabbing out with his arming sword to pierce through both Luquin's leg and the flank of the vampire's undying steed. Both undead creatures screeched. The skeletal horse spun and kicked backward. The unholy strength of its hooves collided with the side of Tempete's head. Even over the pouring rain, the sickening crunch of the horse's skull could be heard. Ser Gerard was thrown from the saddle, down into the mud, as his horse spasmed out her last moments. Astre gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth at the sight.

"NO! TEMPETE!" The Questing Knight cried, hauling himself up from the ground. He started to go to his horse, but he saw Luquin had ridden away enough to give himself room to build up to a galloping charge, intent on riding Gerard down. The Bretonnian stood his ground, waiting for Luquin to close with him.

Gerard spun away, Luquin's sword sparking off his shield. The living knight used his spin to chop off both of the undead horse's back legs as he came around. The foul creature shrieked and thrashed as it went down. It was Luquin's turn to be spilled onto the ground in a heap of rattling steel. The Blood Knight was on his hands and knees as Gerard came upon him, stomped on the vampire's back, and beheaded Luquin with a single stroke.

Gerard raised the severed head high for the occupants of Siegmeyerschloss to see. He pointed forward with his arming sword and ordered, "CHARGE!" With that, he tossed the head away and began rushing forward toward Siegmeyerschloss. The Knights-Errant tore into the fray and smashed the skeletal cavalry. Deprived of their vampiric leader, the skeletons were no match.

Captain Locke barked out, "everyone forward! Take that blighted fortress and put everything in it to the torch!"

A few horns sounded down the line. The advance began at a brisk walk, conserving energy.

"Incoming!" Someone cried. A volley of arrows came from the wall, falling among the attackers. The screams of the first casualties rose over the tumult of hundreds of pairs of marching feet.

Mavaen and her elves raised their twin-bodied bows, the wood elf herself shouting, "return fire! Volley!"

The twang of bowstrings and mechanical snap of crossbows was drowned out by the smoke, fire, and thunder of handguns. Projectiles raked along the battlements of Siegmeyerschloss. Even as this happened, an earthy, pure scent seemed to overtake the unnatural pall of necromancy hanging in the air. A veritable swarm of leaves ripped from the trees of the forest surrounding the castle, each of them taking on a sort of blurred distortion. The leaves swirled above the ranks of the advancing army of the living. As their enemies fired their second volley from the wall, the whirling leaves created a shield, knocking some of the missiles away and fouling their flight. It was by no means a perfect defense, and several arrows did manage to get through, but it was far better than nothing.

As predicted, everyone began to funnel and slow a bit as they neared the gates of Siegmeyerschloss. Waiting on the other side of the gate, Weil could see no mere zombies or skeletons, but the dreaded Grave Guards. Weilstadt led the way as the army finally entered the gate, but before they could close, he raised a fist and dropped to a knee just as the Grave Guards made to countercharge.

This part of the plan had been discussed several times. The attackers formed three ranks at their front. Weil fired his crossbow four times, the silver bolts fizzling with blue flame where they struck unholy warriors. A withering volley of projectiles scathed across the Grave Guards's line. It did not check their momentum as much as Weil had hoped, for the wights were clad in heavy armor.

Then there was no more delaying it.

Weil slung his crossbow over his back and drew his prized swords. This alliance had been assembled at his behest, in aid of his aims, and thus it was only right that he was the first one into the fray. He parried aside a halberd's point with _Windsong_, the enchanted blade of his spatha breaching the gorget of the Grave Guard in question and removing its head.

There was a deafening crash as the two sides fully met in the melee, and it was then that Weil realized how little he truly understood battle, no matter how many fights he had been in. The lines quickly blurred together as the two sides fought around each other. The clamor of weapons clashing and shields ringing was constant. Figures would be locked in combat only to suddenly disappear from view, felled by a weapon or tripping over a corpse and being trampled in the muddy earth. Wounded men were crying out and begging for mercy, but the uncaring wights gave none.

Weil, Aclan, Karolina, and Gweyir all tried to remain together, carving their way through the center of the conflict to try to reach the central keep beyond. Their progress was painfully slow. Even as Aclan's greataxe sundered through half-rusted shields and split wights in twain, the others held their ground. Even as Gweyir expertly parried with her shield and pierced her enemies' weak points with her spear, those wights that remained fought on with unending vigor.

At one point, Weil was locked up with a greatsword wielding Grave Guard. He'd struck it with his spatha three times, but still the thing fought on. The Sewer Jack crossed his swords and caught the greatsword as his foe made to bisect him. Weil bent and skidded back in the mud under the impact. His back ran into something. Instinctually, he expected it to be Aclan, but he could see the White Lion nearby in his peripheral vision. A miniscule whiff of a flowery scent caught Weil's nostrils, and he knew who it was.

As the Grave Guard reared its sword back, Weil cried out, "Lina, drop!"

He didn't see if she did as he'd said. Weil's backside hit the mud, swearing he could feel the greatsword tugging at his hair as it passed over his head. Instead of hitting Weil himself, however, the Grave Guard's blade smashed through the helmet of one of its undead fellows that Karolina had been dueling. From his place on the ground, Weil hacked across his body with his spatha, cutting the wight's leg off at the knee and sending it down. He scrambled forward, stabbing up through the Grave Guard's chin and into its brain.

An arm was hooked under Weil's shoulder, Karolina's voice saying in his ear, "love, I hate to ruin this moment, but what in Shallya's shining undergarments is _**that**_?!"

Weil looked around to see. The coalition army was clearly winning, now able to gang up on the remaining wights and defeat them in detail. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary there. A look up at the wall showed that Othri's dwarves, Hektor's pirates, and Captain Neuer's Sewer Jacks had almost taken the battlements. It was when he looked higher that Weilstadt understood what the problem was. A dreadful despair like he'd never felt filled Weil.

"Oh...that's an old acquaintance…", Weil uttered.

As lightning flashed, it reflected off obsidian scales. The thirty-foot creature was a ragged, horrible sight, its wings full of holes, its head and face especially ruined. However, there was no mistaking it. Dymurrath the Unchained Fury, the magma dragon of Karak Barid, had returned from the dead for vengeance. Isabel must have somehow stopped the dwarfs of Karak Kadrin from breaking the corpse down for crafting as they had planned

The dragon swooped over the walls. Most of Othri's dwarves were smashed away, as were two of Hektor's pirates. At first, Weil thought Hektor himself was among the casualties, but then he saw the insane Nordlander had managed to wedge his cutlass into one of the dragon's old wounds on its neck. The dragon carried Hektor off, apparently unaware that it had a passenger.

Weil popped open his crossbow and began replacing the bolts he'd fired. "Everyone spread out! I don't know if that thing will still have its breath."

His question was answered as Dymurrath came back around and raked its searing, sulfurous breath through the general melee, annihilating living and undead combatants alike. Astre cast some magic spell at the dragon, but the undead beast seemed to just shrug off whatever it was. Dymurrath would wipe them out before the coalition forces got a chance to bring it down!

As Dymurrath came around for another pass on Siegmeyerschloss, Weil watched as Hektor swung off his embedded sword, drew a boarding axe in midair, and chopped it into the dragon's tattered wing. The pirate dragged down Dymurrath's wing with each flap, opening a large rent and causing the magma drake to lose altitude.

Everyone scattered as Dymurrath smashed into the top of the eastern wall. Hektor lost his grip, falling down and landing with a sickening thud. The air seemed to shake as the dragon plowed through the stonework and kept going to batter through the first floor wall of the central keep.

"Hektor!" Weil called out, running to him as masonry from the keep collapsed onto Dymurrath and buried the zombie dragon.

The pirate was in a mangled heap atop shattered stonework. He was bloodied, broken bones jutting from his skin, but somehow, the mad bastard was smiling through red teeth.

"W-...Weil…", the pirate coughed, raising a shaking hand.

Weil dropped beside him, taking the hand, "I'm here, Hektor.'

"No…", he tried to free his hand, "flask...flask…"

Weil raised an eyebrow. He took the dented but otherwise intact flask from Hektor's chest pocket, opening the cap and putting it in Hektor's hand.

"With a sudden rise...in Manann's swell…", the pirate raised his rum to the Sewer Jack, "...ten fathoms deep...on the road...to hell." He brought the flask to his lips, took one last drink, chuckled grimly, and promptly died.

Weil let out a pained breath. He closed the pirate's eyes. Hektor had saved them all by bringing Dymurrath down. Now the rest of the army needed to finish the job.

Rubble shifted and fell away as the dragon regained itself and emerged into the castle's yard. Dymurrath was surrounded on all sides, being shot from every direction, peppered with projectiles. Yet the undead beast fought on. Dymurrath's claws rended holes in the crowd around it, sending warriors flying away. It unleashed its breath again and a dozen fighters were reduced to ash.

"Weil!" Aclan cried out from the edge of the combat with the dragon. "We can't get bogged down here, we have to go!"

Weil watched the conflict and shook his head, "no! We need as many blades in the keep as we can get."

"GRIMNIR!" The battle cry went up over the intensifying storm.

The orange mohawks of the Slayers, sagging with the rain, broke through the crowd, led by Gardta. One of them was crushed by the dragon's paw, another bitten in half, but the Slayers reached it. As Gardta's enchanted gromril axe scattered Dymurrath's scales, the female Slayer roared, "_skazi drak! _I will see my grudge paid in full! I will see my kin avenged!"

Dymurrath looked back, chomping at Gardta. The dwarf's muscles flexed beneath her tattooed skin as she grabbed one of the countless blades and missiles still in the dragon's hide, yanking herself up Dymurrath's side, chopping her axe in over her head like a climber's pick, then hauling herself up with another thing embedded in the dragon. While Dymurrath was distracted, the remaining Slayers continued carving into the zombie drake, spewing foul invectives in their native tongue.

Upon the base of the dragon's neck, Gardta began chanting, "_KHAZUK_!" She hacked downward. "_KHAZUK_!" She slashed over her head, flensing a piece off Dymurrath's chin and fouling its attempted bite. "_KHAZUK_!" Her axe fell upon the center of Dymurrath's back like she was splitting a log. After three more attacks, Dymurrath's legs gave out as its spine was severed. Spears and blades struck the floundering dragon from all sides as those too scared to approach before now saw their chance.

Dymurrath lived up to its name. With a roar louder than anything most present had heard before, the undead dragon thrashed in a circle, wildly flailing its tail and limbs, smashing and battering and crushing. Gardta was thrown from her perch, her axe still in Dymurrath's hide, landing roughly on the ground. It looked like Dymurrath would end the Slayer's life right there as it opened its mouth.

Mavaen arrived, skidding upon the grass, drawing and aiming her bow upward as she did, putting an arrow directly down Dymurrath's throat. The beast made a sort of _hork _noise as the light of its sulfurous breath collected within, and Gardta seized that chance. She grabbed a fallen sword and jumped _into _the dragon's mouth, and did with the sword what her axe would be incapable of doing. Gardta stabbed upward through the roof of Dymurrath's mouth just as a torrent of heat breath erupted from the dragon. The top of the dragon's head burst open in a boiling geyser as its own breath went through the breach in the top of its mouth and completely scorched away the undead creature's brain. With a great flop, Dymurrath fell to the ground amid its victims and moved no more. Gardta's body had been completely disintegrated, now gone to join her ancestors.

The scene within Siegmeyerschloss was not heartening. Weil guessed that half the coalition forces were dead, perhaps more. They had broken into the fortress and slain scores of undead, however. Their goal was near at hand.

"Everyone into the keep. Get the wounded out of the rain", Locke ordered from the hole in the wall left by Dymurrath. "Let's move!"

Inside Siegmeyerschloss proper there was no resistance. There was only the decrepit remnants of the hall's former glories. Mouldering paintings and banner depicted the Empire's forces in triumph over the vampires in those wars so long ago. Once, this place had been meant to keep vigil over the mass graves outside the walls. Now that purpose had been forgotten, and those graves had fed the verdant growth of grass and trees outside the castle.

"The hell are all the zombies and what not?" Weil asked no one in particular as he stumbled inside over the rubble.

"Isabel is a vampire hunter, not a tactician", Aclan reasoned. "Seems she committed her defense to the exterior. Let us gather a few people and scout ahead to be safe. We're running out of time."

Weil nodded and looked around. To his relief, he saw Karolina helping Gweyir carry a wounded elf into the keep.

"Good idea", Weil concurred. "Captain Locke!"

The one-eyed head of House von Bauman's guard replied, "aye, Herr Weilstadt."

"Do you think you could remain here with the majority of our force and watch over the wounded? Too many of us will just be a hindrance in the halls of the keep."

"I was thinking the same thing. Will do, lad", Locke assured him. "We'll, ah...be making sure nothing inside the walls will be rising from the dead should it come to that."

Grisly work, but essential. No one protested.

Weilstadt and Aclan grabbed the nearest ten fighters and headed further into the keep, Karolina bringing up the rear. There were a few more zombies, but they were a token obstacle that bore little distinction. The invaders put the walking corpses down and found their way to a central hallway that led to a wide lift in a stone shaft. Weil looked up the shaft and in the distance he saw the flashing lights of Isabel's ritual. The lift was impressive in size, likely a good twenty feet across.

"What do you think?" Weil asked his elven partner.

"I think we should leave the others behind", Aclan said for Weil's ears only. "They'll likely only get in the way. We don't need them dying and being raised while we're fighting Isabel and Tane. If we fail, the others will need all the help they can get to fight their way out."

Weilstadt nodded in agreement. He turned to face the squad that had come with them. Captain Neuer was at the fore, as was Karolina now.

"We need you to head back and help everyone escape should we fail", Weilstadt informed them.

Resistance came from the source Weil was expecting.

"Absolutely not", Karolina protested, her face set into a hard expression. "Now isn't the time for heroics. You'll need all the help you can get."

"We know what Isabel and Tane are capable of. We brought what we needed in preparation." Weilstadt argued. "We don't have time for this."

"Then you'd best stop arguing the point and let me go with you", Karolina said, her tone final.

Weil closed his eyes, huffing through his nose. He looked at it from Karolina's perspective and realized how she must feel. So, he relented.

"Alright. You win", Weil said. He turned to Neuer and said, "sir, thank you for all your help. It's been an honor."

"It'll continue to be when you get back, lad", the Sewer Jack Captain assured him.

The two men shared a brotherly embrace, and Weil said something that only Neuer could hear. Then, he boarded the lift with Aclan and Karolina.

"Ac, you mind getting the lever?" He asked the elf.

Aclan nodded after a moment, striding across the lift.

"Lina...you are the best thing that's ever happened to me. You know that, right?" Weil said to the Lady von Bauman.

"It doesn't surprise me, but that doesn't mean I don't love to hear it." Karolina said to him, smiling sweetly, if a bit nervously.

The lift _clanked _as Aclan pulled the lever. Slowly, the platform began to rise.

"Then I need to tell you what I said to Captain Neuer", Weil said, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"What do you mean? What did you say?" Karolina asked, an eyebrow arching quizzically.

"Catch her", Weil repeated.

Karolina's head twitched in confusion. That pause gave Weil the time to say, "I'm sorry", as he fairly tossed Karolina off the lift. It was only about a five or six foot drop. Neuer and the others were waiting, catching Karolina to prevent her from hitting the floor.

"Weil! Weil, wait!" Karolina cried out, wrenching herself free. She made for the lever on the ground floor that could call the lift and pulled it, but it either didn't work anymore or wouldn't function until the lift stopped.

"Our story doesn't end here, lass", Weilstadt told her, affecting a smile but in truth feeling his heart wrench as he looked into Lina's teary eyes. "I'll see you in a bit."

The platform was raised into the shaft and the people at the bottom were no longer in sight. Karolina was saying something but her voice was cut off.

"Keep your focus, Volker", Aclan said as he looked over his longbow.

"That was the entire point behind those theatrics", Weil replied with a frown. "If she came with, Lina and I would be too busy trying to keep each other safe than fighting Isabel", Weil looked up again at the rapidly approaching top of the spire, his guts tying themselves into knots as the finality of it all settled over him. "Ranald's cloak shroud us." He held the holy symbol around his neck as he muttered the oath.

"And Kurnous guide our sight", Aclan added.

The lift was painfully slow. Weil reached into one of his belt pouches, producing a half-pint bottle of green-yellow liquid. He took a generous swig of it, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing, then poured the rest over the blade of his spatha. Smacking his lips, Weil rasped, "that'll wake you up in the morning, gods…"

"You think it will help?" Aclan asked.

"Sure won't hurt", Weil said. He belched and made a face, "alright, might hurt a little."

"Just so", Aclan said, showing a rare, slight grin.

"S'pose this is it, huh", Weil pondered, watching their destination draw closer.

"If by 'it' you mean the day we finally bring Isabel to justice, then I concur", Aclan said. "I'll not be dying here, I should think."

"I can agree with that attitude", Weil said.

The Sewer Jack tried to come up with something meaningful to say to his friend. After more than three years of adventuring together, fighting and bleeding together side by side, it felt wrong to just go into this like any other fight. Yet, at the same time, what needed to really be said between the two warriors?

So, the only noise to fill most of the ascent was the grinding and clanking of the elevator. The higher up they got, the more Weil started to feel the foul crawling of necromancy against his skin. It was, perhaps, not such a wonderful byproduct of the adventuring lifestyle that Weilstadt so readily recognized black magic when he felt its presence.

"Hey, Ac", Weil finally said as the top of the shaft drew near.

"Yes, Volker?"

The Sewer Jack held out a hand. "Down in the deep."

A soft exhale escaped the White Lion's nostrils. "Where the best still sleep." He shook Weil's hand.

The top of the lift arrived.

Both adventurers almost perished right there.

Tane jumped onto the elevator before it was quite near the top, slashing downward with her katana and wakizashi. Weil had to throw himself aside to not get hit. Aclan raised his axe and blocked the attack.

"Vengeance will be _mine_", the undead samurai snarled as the lift finally reached the top.

Weil regained himself and attacked with his spatha. The wight parried the attack, then threw and elbow into Weil's back and tripped him off of the elevator. Tane spun and used both swords to push Aclan's falling axe to the side. The axe blade _thunked_ into the wooden floor of the lift. Ac released his axe, snatching Tane's wrists before she could recover and tossing her across the lift. The samurai slammed into the control lever. The lift started descending.

"Shit!" Aclan swore as he yanked his axe free. "I'll come help you after I'm done with her!" The asur readied himself as Tane got to her feet. Weil sheathed his sword and brought his crossbow to bear, but by the time he did, the two combatants were too locked together for a sure shot.

"Plant that bitch, for me, Herr Sunshine!" Weilstadt called after his partner. Now he was regretting leaving Karolina behind a little, for as Weil turned his attention away from the lift, he realized he would be facing Isabel alone. Behind him, the sounds of Aclan and Tane clashing echoed up the elevator shaft.

Weilstadt was in a short hallway that led to an observatory, it seemed. Above him was a dome that had likely once contained glass marked with star charts. They were devoid of glass now, yet somehow the rain did not pass through them. The dome was a good sixty to seventy feet above Weil's head, and several more empty windows ran all the way from the floor of the observatory up to the bottom of the dome, interspersed by thick pillars of stone. Setting his face into a stoic mask, Weil came to the edge of the room.

The entirety observatory's floor was spotless. Viridian energy swirled around the room, casting the space in corpse light. Speaking of corpses, there were freshly slain bodies lashed to each of the pillars between the windows. Delicate sigils and glyphs had been drawn in the blood of the victims up the pillars and onto the frame of the dome. The air was putrid with the smell of death and the horrific stench of whatever foul ingredients Isabel had used to bring this blasphemy to life. It seemed the magic of this place was being channeled upward, no doubt to spread it as far as possible on the surrounding land.

In the center of it all, there was Isabel.

The Lady Monte wore the same natural fiber robes she'd had on when she'd slain Hartwin and stolen the power of her sire's damned soul. She stood at ease in the center of the ritual space, streams of magic running out of her body. Otherwise, she did nothing but stare as Weil entered. Isabel was splashed with copious amounts of coagulating blood, her normally silken red hair matted with it.

Weilstadt raised his crossbow and fired a single bolt. As he'd suspected, it flashed against a barrier at the edge of the room.

"Forgive me for disappointing you", Isabel's voice sounded serene at first, but Weilstadt could tell she was on edge.

"It was worth a shot", the Sewer Jack said with a shrug. "No pun intended."

"I almost didn't think you would make it. I was certain Dymurrath would turn your little army going", Isabel was annoyed.

"Well, it didn't", Weil said. "Isabel, you need to stop this. It's not too late for you to do the right thing. Drop the ritual."

Isabel scoffed, "and then what, hm? You'll allow me to go free with a pledge that I'll only use my powers for good?" She shook her head, "I'm no Genevieve Doudonne, Herr Weilstadt. I think you know that, too."

"Aye. Aye, I do know that", Weilstadt agreed. "Doesn't mean you can't still come to your senses. In fact, methinks part of you wants to."

"Oh? And what makes you say that?"

"You haven't attacked me yet."

Isabel smirked and retorted, "obviously I can't leave the ritual space. Like a mechanical clock, I've set this magic into motion, but I am still one of the central cogs. But, I can afford to wait things out. You cannot. Don't mistake me, Herr Weilstadt. You've made it plain where we stand with each other."

Weil frowned. Ceasing the banter, he suddenly plunged ahead into the room. Passing into the ritual space felt like moving into a strong wind. Once he was through, he fired a bolt at Isabel. The vampiress moved, not as fast as he'd seen in her basement, but still easily getting out of the projectile's way.

Isabel went on the attack. Weil fired three more bolts, trying to score a hit that might slow her, but the vampiress would not grant him such a thing. She closed, striking at Weilstadt with her claws. The Sewer Jack tried to back away but ran into one of the pillars that flanked the entrance to the observatory. He was forced to defend himself with his crossbow. Isabel's claws ripped the side out of the crossbow, snapping off the tension arms on that side, and spilling the contents of the crossbow's hopper magazine onto the floor.

Letting go of the destroyed weapon, Weil held up his holy symbol of Ranald, bellowing, "Father of shadows, confound the sight of my enemies!"

The pendant of cat-stamped coin glowed white and vibrated in Weilstadt's hand. Isabel hissed and leapt backwards, putting distance between herself and the sacred icon.

"You came prepared", Isabel noted, glowering at her foe.

"Had to learn sometime", Weil quipped, drawing his swords.

They charged each other.

* * *

Karolina watched the lift go up, and as it went, her heart was sinking. She should have seen it coming. Weil had given into Karolina's protests too easily. The Lady von Bauman's mind had been on the coming fight with Isabel.

"My lady! Lady Karolina!" Pascal was shouting, running down the hall that led to the lift.

Karolina set her jaw, turning to look past Captain Neuer and his Sewer Jacks to see the approaching soldier of her house.

"What is it?" Karolina inquired, not entirely sure she wanted to know.

"Captain Locke was beheading corpses outside the keep when they suddenly started coming to life", Pascal gasped, his eyes frantic. "He put a few more down but one got him with a spear."

It was happening. The ritual was nearing completion. Karolina didn't have time to process Locke's death. For the moment, she would just have to pretend the man that had protected her house since she was born was simply out of view.

"We must rally everyone", Karolina ordered. "Get the wounded back from that hole in the wall. We must clear out any remaining hostiles within the walls. There will be many more without quite shortly and we must be able to turn our full strength to repelling them", she drew her broadsword for emphasis. "Let's move!"

Karolina hurried with Neuer and his Sewer Jacks on her heels to where the wounded were, but thankfully it seemed Locke's preventative efforts had safeguarded them. The sounds of conflicts beyond the pile of rubble created by the dragon's fall indicated that Pascal spoke truly and Locke had not had time to complete his task. There were people milling about the room, some fussing over the wounded, a few just looking to the source of the noise.

"All of you!" Karolina pointed to a cluster of people. "Help the wounded deeper into the keep. Everyone else, on me. We are not done yet. Let's go!"

Spurred by a voice of authority, the surviving coalition soldiers picked their way through the rubble and charged out into the yard of Siegmeyerschloss, fat rain drops pelting them as they went. The fresh zombies were scattered, yet so were the soldiers carrying out the task of beheading the bodies. Pockets of small fights were spread over the inside of the wall. Karolina's force of about fifty swept through, the noblewoman taking the lead as they put down those that had risen, completing the task begun by Captain Locke as they went. It ended with Karolina's sword going into the eye of the last zombie and piercing out the back of its skull. The Lady von Bauman flicked the body off, taking stock of the situation around her and trying to catch her breath.

The motley assortment of warriors that had followed Karolina into the fray were ragged, covered in mud and blood. Many bore superficial wounds, or worse ones that they were ignoring. Graceful elves were disheveled. Douty dwarfs breathed heavily and sweated under their heavy armor. They had already fought so hard, yet the battle was still not over. Karolina peered upward through the pouring rain. Up above them, the sickly green light of Isabel's ritual grew brighter and brighter.

_Sigmar, please be with him. _Karolina sent up this silent prayer before returning to what lay before her.

Karolina pointed to Gweyir, saying, "lead any archers or handgunners you can scrape together, get them on the walls. Everyone else, on me at the gates. We'll bottleneck them there. Send a runner into the keep and have those still able to fight join us once they're done moving the injured."

At first, it seemed Gweyir and the other non-humans present might rebuke Karolina for ordering them around. It was Mavaen airily saying, "delightful, more target practice", and scampering off to the wall that broke the proverbial dam.

"Lady von Bauman, my fellow knights and I shall be the frontline at the gate", Ser Gerard volunteered. The Bretonnians had all dismounted by now. "Astre will use her remaining magic to bolster our defense."

"Thank you, Ser Knight", Karolina told him. "Now, we must hurry or all this planning will be for nothing."

Everyone went about their tasks. Karolina moved to the breached gates behind the Bretonnian knights. Once she arrived and looked past the knightly fighters, the true gravity of their situation dawned upon her with the inevitability of a tsunami approaching a ship at sea.

Hands were breaching the soil out in the grass beyond Siegmeyerschloss. Skeletal bodies were hauling themselves out of the ground, their arms and armor made entirely of rust after the long years in the ground. There were scores of them. Hundreds. Beyond the sounds that came from ripping free of the ground and a clacking of bones, the skeletons were completely silent.

"If they break through here, we all die", Karolina said as plain as day, bracing herself for what was likely going to be her final battle. "Fight until you can't anymore."

The first of the skeletons shambled toward their living opponents. The projectiles from the wall only really did anything when they struck the shuffling undead in their skulls; not a simple task from the walls in the dark. Still, every one felled was one not closing the distance. When the walking dead finally did close, the clamor was immense, and a pile of toppled bones quickly began building in front of the only entrance to Siegmeyerschloss.

That did not stop the horde behind them from continuing the assault.

* * *

The lift had seemed large when Aclan had ridden up it with Weilstadt. Now, it felt like Tane was upon him at all times.

Volker had just turned away to go face Isabel. Aclan was trying to fight conservatively, his body already tired from the battle to get into the castle. Tane was having none of that. The undead samurai's crimson swords were an unrelenting flurry, harrowing the White Lion into backing away from her, round and round the lift.

Aclan risked a sideways attack, hacking at Tane's left shoulder. The samurai melted back, and Aclan felt his arms shudder as his greataxe sparked off the wall. Tane tried to take advantage, bounding in to put the axe between her body and the wall, holding it there while she stabbed at the White Lion. Aclan turned his body, watching the wakizashi slide across his breastplate beneath his ribs deeply enough to drag a few fibers of his gambeson along with it. Aclan turned the axe in his hands, dropping it low and hooking Tane's heel with the bottom of the blade. The samurai right foot was dragged forward and upward. She fell onto her back.

Aclan chopped down at her but the wight managed to roll to the side. Aclan struck downward again and again, but Tane would not be defeated so easily, eventually rolling up to her feet and catching the axe between her two swords in one fluid motion before it could split her from stem to stern.

"I was hoping you'd learn something new since our last battle", Tane taunted, bending slightly under Aclan's superior strength.

"I have been too busy deciding which midden I am going to leave your swords in after I destroy you", Aclan retorted.

The two warriors broke apart from each other, each falling into a combat stance. Tane changed hers based on Aclan's. Aclan did the same in response, going from a low guard to a high one. This went on for several seconds. Aclan didn't actually have much technique in mind on his end of the arrangement, he was just grateful for some time to catch his breath. Tane realized what the elf was doing and once more went on the offensive. She used a twin swipe she had several times already, her katana then her wakizashi, left then right, which Aclan instinctively parried by now. He feinted with his axe blade, which Tane fell for, moving to block a blow that never came. Instead, Aclan violently levered the pommel of his greataxe upward, striking Tane in the chin. The wight was jarred and sent reeling back, which opened her up to a great cleaving attack from Aclan.

Undead flesh parted. What remained of the samurai's chest armor was sundered away as Aclan's axe tore its path. A ghastly trench was left through Tane's ribs, visible through the rent in her padded undershirt, but much to Aclan's dismay, the wight was far from defeated by what would have been a finishing blow against most other opponents.

Aclan had thrown much of his weight into the attack, and was left vulnerable to Tane's counter. The samurai got inside the elf's guard and Aclan was just moving back when Tane's katana traced the path her wakizashi had opened in Aclan's breastplate, carving deep and catching Aclan's lowest rib on its way. The White Lion managed to shove Tane back with a straight kick, retreating as searing pain crawled up his side. The injury was deep. Already, blood was flowing down the elf's side, and he was certain that rib had been broken. Combined with his accumulated exhaustion, Aclan knew he had no chance if things kept going this way. Tane's tireless, undead body would keep fighting long after Aclan had been sliced to ribbons.

The elf had to think fast as the wight closed with him, the savage satisfaction in her deathly face telling of how deeply she was savoring this moment. Her eyes were fixated on Aclan's Chracian greataxe, that weapon that would have ended her life both back in Altdorf and on this lift were the samurai still mortal.

With a sharp motion, Aclan tossed his axe at Tane with both hands. Tane was audibly surprised as the axe's haft struck her in the face. It didn't harm her, but fell to the ground and tripped her up. Tane made the mistake of looking down, trying to step over the axe and not fall flat on her face before her opponent.

The undead samurai stumbled right into the waiting blade of Aclan's backup sword. It went right between her lips that were still parted in surprise and sheared off the upper half of Tane's head. The wight's body dumbly ran into Aclan and tumbled to the floor of the lift. Black, syrupy blood slowly oozed from Tane's corpse.

Aclan planted his axe against the floor, leaning heavily against it and swearing in Eltharin. He clutched his side, forced to breath in short gasps. The wight was destroyed, but now he was in no condition to help Volker.

All the same, when the lift reached the bottom floor, Aclan immediately reversed it. Volker would need a way down after he destroyed that damned vampire. Ac undid his breastplate, making a tourniquet out of strips from the outer fabric of his ruined gambeson, and bound his bleeding side.

That done, all Aclan could do was sink to the floor and wait as the lift made the ponderous journey back up.

* * *

Had the ritual not been commanding a portion of Isabel's attention and power, Weilstadt would already be dead. This, he knew for certain, because whatever Isabel had left, it was more than enough to keep up with Weil's attempts to kill her.

Weilstadt fought with his spatha and _Windsong_. At the outset, Weil had slashed at her with his spatha. Isabel had made to block it with her hand, but the oil-coated blade had sliced open her palm. The vampiress did not make this mistake twice.

Now, Isabel simply allowed _Windsong _to hit her, the moonsteel sword not able to breach her vampiric immunities. Weil relegated his off-hand blade to parrying Isabel's claws, but try as he might, he could not land another blow with his spatha.

The ritual space was _howling_. Weilstadt was throwing everything he had left into putting Isabel down, trying to cut the ritual off at its source. Desperation was mounting in his gut, but he refused to give in to despair.

"You cannot beat me, Herr Weilstadt", Isabel was calm, as if this battle was a stroll in the park.

As Isabel danced back from yet another attack from Weil's spatha, the Sewer Jack rebuked her, "and even if...you beat me…", he sniffed in a long breath, "you'll never win. However much you hate vampires, you'll always hate yourself more for what you've done."

Isabel's eyebrow twitched. Weil realized he was onto something.

"Don't pretend to know me, Herr Weilstadt", Isabel growled, the shadows cast by the gauntness of her face seeming to deepen.

"You've become what you despise. A deceitful creature relying on necromancy and the unclean powers of Old Night", Weilstadt forged ahead. "You could off every vampire in the bloody world and then yourself and you still wouldn't be satisfied", Weil laughed at her, a bitter, mocking sound, "by the gods, I thought I hated you. I don't. I pity you."

Isabel's claws scythed the air, forcing Weilstadt to weave between them. He parried one with his spatha, causing Isabel to recoil as the oil burned her. For a moment, it seemed Weil had one the day as his spatha fell toward Isabel's neck.

Weil's sword cut nothing more than a cloud of mist. His hope that Isabel would not have the power to use that ability during the ritual was dashed. When she reformed, Isabel's fist slammed into Weilstadt with enough force to dent his breastplate. Weil was thrown backwards with no wind in his lungs, skidding across the floor and coming to rest near the entrance beside his destroyed crossbow. Both his swords slid away, out of the ritual space.

Gasping for breath, Weilstadt got to his feet, fumbling for the silver stake he carried. Just as his hands closed around it, the edges of his vision fuzzed as blinding pain erupted in his stomach. Isabel had driven the claws of both of her hands through Weil's breastplate, into the Sewer Jack's abdomen. His armor had kept the attack from disemboweling him, but Isabel lifted Weilstadt off his feet, pinning him against the pillar beside the entrance, driving her claws further into him. The silver stake clattered to the floor as Weil mindlessly grabbed the wrists of the hands that were impaling him. Isabel kicked the stake away with a sneer.

"You judge me, yet you are a self professed thief and murderer", Isabel chastised her prey, her words obviously more for own benefit than for Weil. "Without your help I never would have been able to achieve these 'evil' deed you look down upon. So, tell me, Herr Weilstadt; who are you to judge me so? Just who do you think you are to look down on me when you're no better?!"

Weilstadt couldn't respond, too focused on trying to hold himself up on Isabel's wrists, relieving even a fraction of the pressure on his punctured flesh. He tried to breath, but hacked and coughed on the film coating his mouth and throat.

Wait. That's right. He'd forgotten.

"You...want to know...who I am?" Weil asked.

"Please enlighten me. I'll write the words on your tombstone once your corpse is done serving me", Isabel snapped.

Weilstadt hawked and spat a glob of saliva laced with garlic oil into Isabel's eye.

The shriek that Isabel produced set Weil's ears to ringing as the claws retracted from his stomach. Weil hit the floor, fingers scrabbling to take hold of one of the silver bolts from his broken crossbow.

"I'm just a fucking Sewer Jack", was Weilstadt answer.

With a final effort, Weil put his left arm around the caterwauling vampire's back, pulling her forward as he stabbed forward with the bolt in his right hand. The silver point pierced Isabel's chest, coming to rest deep in her heart.

There was no dramatic last shudder or convulsing twitch. Isabel simply went limp and became the corpse that she truly was, the silver quarrel interrupting whatever kept the vampiress up and moving around. The Lady Monte unceremoniously crumpled, her lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Weilstadt went down soon after Isabel did, his hands wrapping around his stomach. He'd heard the horror stories of gut wounds. It was difficult to find much solace in his victory with that in mind. With that was coupled the melancholy of looking at Isabel's inert form. Whatever she might have become, Isabel was a tortured and troubled woman. Destroying her was not something Weilstadt regretted. For what could have been, though, he mourned, for the strength of spirit Isabel possessed would have been a boon against Old Night for gods knew how many people.

Now, Isabel's body _was _thrashing. It was not her death throes, though, but the unraveling ritual. The viridian light that had been pouring from her started consuming the fallen vampiress, turning her to ash. More and more rain and wind were seeping through. The sigils on the walls began to run like heated wax, the corpses lashed upon the pillars shrivelling as if they had been up their for decades, not hours.

Weilstadt tried to stand up. He couldn't. All he could do was crawl and drag his way out of the observatory, away from the imploding ritual. He grabbed his swords as he passed them, tucking the blades away. Over the din, Weil could hear the lift operating, but as he reached it, the lift was nowhere to be seen.

Behind him, Weilstadt heard thunder roar much closer than a storm would warrant. Ozone filled his nostrils as green lightning spasmed through the air and shattered stone.

All Weilstadt could do was wait. Wait and pray.

* * *

Ser Gerard was a warrior unlike anyone Karolina had ever witnessed. He possessed no supernatural powers, but by virtue of his indomitable willpower alone, the Questing Knight refused to leave the frontline even as others were being rotated off to get some modicum of rest. His sword smote down countless skeletons, his kite shield warding off attack after attack.

Karolina returned to the fore, stepping over a fallen Sewer Jack to cave the skull of an encroaching skeleton. She was beside Ser Gerard, who silently kept killing. Against the skeletons, one could easily fall into a pattern. Block, riposte. Block, riposte. The pile of bones grew larger and larger, the skeletons clambering over it to reach their living prey.

Her arms had long ago begun to feel leaden, but Karolina refused stop fighting. Her broadsword was nicked and blunted, yet still it smashed through skulls and spines and femurs. The Lady von Bauman had lost count of the number of skeletons she had put down, but the undead had no end. Coalition warriors were dying, their exhaustion making them too sluggish or too imperceptive, just enough for the shambling bone warriors to find a weakness. Some were pulled into the skeletal horde, torn apart by bony hands. Other were gashed by cruel, rusting weapons.

The pile of dead skeletons grew so prodigious that it suddenly gave way like an avalanche. The torrent of bones swept down upon the defenders. Karolina lost sight of her comrades and ended up on her back in the mud. Her broadsword was lost to her beneath the skeletal remains. All around her, Karolina could hear the other coalition fighters being slaughtered as the skeletons used this new weakness to their advantage. The noblewoman looked for it, but had to stop as she saw yet another shambling bone warrior advancing upon her. Karolina drew her pistol, lifting her hand out of the clutter of bones and firing. The bullet blew apart the head of her attacker, but another was just behind, a corroded falchion in its grasp. The weapon was raised, and Karolina had no recourse…

The skeleton stopped in its tracks.

Karolina watched the walking corpse with bated breath.

The falchion slipped from dead fingers. Shortly thereafter, the skeleton fell apart, joining the disjointed clutter of bony remains that had swept Karolina and the others back. After a few perplexed seconds, Karolina realized what must have happened and her heart soared. Weil must have slain Isabel! The battle was won!

Karolina threw off the bones around her and stood up. She passed from the sheltering arch of the gate and into the rain, looking up at the spire. The necromantic energies she had seen before were pulsing and flaring, growing rapidly out of control. Viridian lightning sparked and lashed about the top of the spire.

Suddenly, the necromantic lights faded away.

The top of the spire collapsed in on itself.

"Weil!" Karolina cried, her throat tightening. Paying no mind to anything else, Karolina sprinted into the keep. She made a beeline for the lift, intent on going up and helping Weil if he was still...no, on going up and helping Weil. He _was _still alive. He had to be.

As Karolina reached the lift, she saw that it was descending, and shortly thereafter, the platform found its way to the ground. In the center of the elevator, two ragged looking men were holding each other up.

"We were...under the impression...that your keep had...an undead problem", Aclan croaked.

"Don't worry", Weilstadt tacked on. "All taken care of."

* * *

_Of just over three-hundred people that joined in the assault on Siegmeyerschloss, only about fifty survived. Those that lived were paid what they were due. It still left the rather extensive vaults of House Monte rather full. I had a few ideas for what should be done with those funds..._

_-excerpt from "The Sewer Knight: the Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt, Vol. 10: At Dawn They Stood Tall"_


	15. The Dawn Provides

Magner's day was almost finished. He was just putting the finishing touches on his daily paperwork, then he'd be able to go home to his smiling wife and a home cooked meal. He was a middle-aged, balding man, a man of little ambition and easy attitude. Magner's days of coveting promotions and increases in station were long gone. Did not those promotions and increases always bring proportionally more problems along with them? They did, indeed. Thus, Magner was content with his little office in the Bureau of Registry.

There was a knock on Magner's door just as the official was about to snuff out his desk candles. Of course. The man groaned to himself. Always right before quitting time.

"Enter", Magner droned, settling back into his seat.

The door opened. A man in a dark gambeson entered the room. He could not have looked more like a sellsword if the word had been stamped on his forehead; it would certainly go along with all the other tattoos this newcomer bore. The sellsword looked down at Magner, revealing one of his eyes to be a wooden prosthetic.

"Evening, sir", the sellsword said. "Sorry, the other folks in here had either gone home or given me the runaround."

"It is about closing time", Magner hinted none too subtly. Then he realized he'd rather not deal with a complaint to his superiors. "What did you need done?"

"I want to establish a knightly order", the sellsword said.

Magner blinked, his head twitching. "You are aware that to even apply for such registration there is a fee of one-thousand crowns?"

"Aye", the sellsword said, reaching into a leather satchel at his side and placing a piece of paper on the desk before Magner.

The official blinked again, this time in disbelief. He held a monocle up to his left eye and read the document closely. Sure enough, it was an official bank note from the Bank of Altdorf, signed by one "Volker Weilstadt".

"Well…", Magner said, a little stunned. This was a rare part of his job. "Uhm...have a seat, please. I'll need to track down the proper form."

"Sure", Weilstadt said, sitting down across the desk from Magner.

It took a bit, but the official found the right document. He laid it out before himself and dipped his quill, writing Weilstadt's name in the right place. Then, he started asking the required questions.

"Are you landed nobility?"

"No, sir."

"Then I shall have to see letters of sponsorship from at least two Imperial nobles", Magner revealed, finally believing the matter to be over with.

No such luck. The sellsword reached into his satchel again, producing two rolled up scrolls.

"One from Baron Bruno von Bauman here in Altdorf and another from Lady Tessa Kreiche, Grafin of Brockel", Weilstadt explained, handing the scrolls over.

Magner took the scrolls like they might puff into dust. He opened each, reading them thoroughly, looking for signs of forgery. He found none.

"Appear to be in order…", Magner said, mostly to himself. "Do you have a location for a chapterhouse or shall one need to be constructed?"

"Baron von Bauman just recently came into possession of the lands once belonging to the now defunct Monte family", Weilstadt revealed, handing over yet another piece of paper. "This is his official sanction for those lands, and the keep sitting thereon, to become the property of this Order to be." He smiled excitedly at the idea.

Magner nodded, reading this next document and placing it in the pile with the rest.

"Who will be the Marshal of this Order?" Magner inquired.

"Me, sir", Weilstadt said, a bit loud and eager.

Ready to go home as Magner was, the man's youthful excitement was, admittedly, rather endearing. Hopefully it would be balanced out by good sense on the battlefield.

"Do you have a name for this Order?"

"The Order of the Dawnbringers, sir."

The official scribbled that down. "Will this be a secular or templar Order?"

"Secular, sir. Ranald isn't one for templars", Weilstadt chuckled, showing a tattoo on his wrist of a coin stamped with the image of a black cat. "I also have the heraldry design right here, I know that's got to go in the registry, too."

Magner inspected the sketch. "Frankly, it's a refreshing change of pace for someone to be so well prepared in my office."

Weilstadt shrugged, "I've been planning for this for years, to be just as frank."

Magner chortled, "just so", he scribbled his own signature a few times on the paperwork, adding a few little notes. "I'll need to check the seals on these letters against those of the von Bauman and Kreiche families in our records in the morning, but other than that, I'd say that by this time tomorrow, the Order of the Dawnbringers will officially exist. Your part in it is done for the moment, though I wager you'll have a lot of work ahead of you."

The sellsword smiled from ear to ear. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much." He got up from his seat and grabbed the doorknob.

"Oh, one more thing", Magner said.

Weilstadt stopped in the half-open door.

"Have a good evening..._Sir _Weilstadt", Magner bid him.

The newly appointed knight's eyes teared up in the corners. "Good evening to you, sir." He closed the door. Magner grinned as, out in the hall, he heard the man's voice yell, "_**SIR **__VOLKER WEILSTADT!_"

* * *

The _Spear of Mathlann _bobbed in its moorings on one of the many quays of Altdorf. The Eagleship, though large, had a shallow draft, allowing it to come up the River Reik from Marienburg. The _Spear's _elven crew were preparing it for departure, seeing to the sails and the twin hulls of the catamaran style boat.

Weilstadt stood beside Aclan, looking at the _Spear_. He remembered the ferocious battle that had taken place against the skaven on the deck of the Eagleship. One could not even tell the _Spear _had been ravaged in that fight, and no doubt countless others since then.

"Fine ship", Weil noted.

Aclan nodded. "Yes. Indeed it is."

"What's next for you?" Weil asked.

"The wilderness of Chrace", Aclan answered. "I've traveled. I've fought battles and tested myself. It's time. Even though I never officially left the White Lions, I will undergo the trial of joining their ranks once more to reaffirm my loyalty to them."

"Send me that extra cloak you'll be getting out of that", Weilstadt requested.

"Gladly. You'll just have to avoid being seen wearing it by any other asur for the rest of your life." Ac informed Weil.

"Ah, damn. Oh well", Weil snorted. "Thanks for sticking around and helping with things with the Order."

"It was the least I could do", Aclan said.

The two adventurers were silent for a moment. This wasn't a moment Weilstadt had really thought about. But, the time had come, and Weil found that he did not have the words.

"It has been interesting, Volker", Ac finally said, turning to face Weil and offering his hand.

Weil shook Aclan's hand, saying, "bit of an understatement...ah, bring it in, you big lug!"

"That's quite unnece-...ach, gods", Aclan sighed as Weilstadt pulled him into a bear hug.

"C'mon, brother, feel the love, you don't have to look cool in front of all your elf friends", Weil laughed, clapping the White Lion on the back.

"Ugh, if I must", Aclan awkwardly hugged Weil back.

They stepped apart.

"Sir Aclan, we'll be casting off soon!" Commodore Sevanis called out from the _Spear of Mathlann_.

"Well, go on then. Lina won't forgive you if you don't write us, though", Weilstadt told the elf.

"I will be sure to", Aclan assured him. He smiled. "Be well, Sir Volker. Gods keep you."

With that, Aclan walked up the gangplank of the _Spear. _Awaiting him at the top of the gangplank was none other than Gweyir, who unceremoniously threw her arms around Aclan's neck and pulled him into a tight embrace the moment he was close enough to do so. Weilstadt laughed as the tall White Lion was almost bent double.

Finally, the _Spear _was cast off and set to sail on its way down the River Reik. Aclan and Gweyir waved from the portside rail. Weilstadt waved back at them, watching the Eagleship float away until it disappeared from view.

Weilstadt felt a strange, almost hollow feeling right through his middle. The friend that he'd been through so much with was gone, simple as that. Weil had never met anyone so steadfast or so enduring. He only hoped Ac could find a little happiness back home.

"I don't know if you elven gods...uh, Cadai? Right. I don't know if you Cadai will listen to me", Weilstadt said as he looked up to the sky, "but keep that one safe, you hear? He's earned a little good fortune for once."

With that, Weil returned to the hitching post where his horse, Dust, waited, and left the quay behind.

* * *

Standing inside the central keep of what was once the stronghold of the Monte family, Sir Marshal Volker Weilstadt hesitated. He had renamed the fortress to Rising Sun Keep. After everything else, today was finally the day. Yet even still, he was stopped just before the main entry doors of the keep. The castle's yard was outside.

"Gotten cold feet all of a sudden?" A woman asked.

Weil glanced behind to see Karolina descending the stairs of the foyer. She was dressed much like she had been when Weil had first met her; looking like a gentleman rake with her leather breeches, ruffled shirt, and roguishly titled hat. Her broadsword was sheathed at her hip, but she carried Weil's spatha in its scabbard in her hands.

"Something like that", Weil admitted. "Guess it's good this is the first time I've gotten cold feet, eh?"

"I'd say so", Karolina agreed as she came to her husband's side. She had kept her family's name after their marriage, keeping the line alive. "What's the matter?"

"It's...real now", Weil uttered, looking at the door. "Which means I can fuck it all up now."

"It also means you can triumph even greater than you could imagine", Karolina took his left hand in her right. "You were born for this. Now get out there and prove it."

Weil's heart soared at the encouragement. He was no king, but Karolina was ever the kingmaker.

"Ranald's bones, I love you", Weil said with emphasis, bringing Karolina's hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "Wish me luck."

"Don't invoke the god of luck and expect me to follow up for him, darling", Karolina laughed, putting hand in the small of Weil's back.

With one last smile, Weil took a deep breath, gripped both doorknobs before him, pulled the doors inward, and strode outside with Karolina right on his heels.

Outside, in the yard of Rising Sun Keep, one-hundred men and women stood in ten rows of ten at the bottom of the wide stairs that led into the central keep. They tended to be on the younger side, most appearing to be in their twenties, but there were a few people that were more long in the tooth. The lined up people stood up a little straighter as the Marshal looked over them. Each of them wore a gambeson of navy blue with a coat of arms stitched upon the right breast. Weilstadt wore one that was exactly the same.

Weilstadt looked up and to his right, seeing the banner that was flying at the top of a flagpole over the yard. The banner's main color was the same dark blue the gathered host was wearing. It depicted a sun of deep orange with two silver straight swords crossed behind it. It was a simple emblem, the very same one stitched upon the breast of each person in the yard.

With one last look over the hundred people before him, Weilstadt hardened his gaze. They needed to see strength. Determination.

"For the past months, you have been put to all manner of tests", Weilstadt began. "Of one-thousand potential recruits, you are the ones that stood above the others. No matter what happens from this day forward, you can be proud of that."

The Marshal began pacing before his new knights. "However, I want to make something clear. I've made no illusions about this, but I want no misunderstandings. If you're here for fame and glory, if you're here for delicate ladies of the court to swoon over tales of your deeds, you'd best turn your arse around and take a walk to Altdorf; I'm sure the Reiksguard will be more than happy to have you."

A few people snickered in the crowd.

"We aren't here for fame. We aren't here for glory." Weilstadt went on. "We're here to fight the battles that no one else will. When there's danger in the sewers, when there's a threat in the swamps, when there's a menace in the tall mountain peaks, we will be there. You will probably die unremembered by anyone other than your families and your comrades that stand beside you right now. In all odds, there won't be sagas written about you. In all likelihood, you'll be among the last people the bards sing of. And I can assure you that other knightly orders of the Empire will look down on you with disdain."

Weilstadt paused, letting that brutal honesty sink in, his mind turning to his fellow Sewer Jacks from all those years ago, their bodies forgotten in the dark depths of Altdorf. They were men and women just as noble as any knight in shining armor; perhaps even more so. So, too, would these knights be. They were commoners, one and all, striving to become part of something greater than themselves.

"Many of you come from troubled pasts." Weil touched his chest, "I can relate. Once, I was a thief, a thug, and a murderer. I don't care what lies in your past. At this moment, there is only the future. We're moving forward, as one, together. The only people we need recognition from is ourselves. If you're willing to accept all these hardships, then I will be more than happy to call you my brothers, my sisters. You are the first generation. You will be the ones guiding pages and squires into knighthood of their own. The future of our young Order rests more in your hands than it does my own."

Weil saw pride swelling in the faces of many of his knights, their chests puffing out, their eyes brightening with resolve. It was largely thanks to Aclan's instruction and training that Weil was able to select the cream of the crop from his potential recruits. The former Sewer Jack expected great things from these people.

Fierce and proud, Karolina stepped out to offer the hilt of Weil's spatha to him. Weilstadt drew the sword. It had been enchanted again, now gleaming with subtle white light. Weil had finally settled on a name. _Radiance._ The sensible side of him wondered if he was leaning too much into the light motif with all this business. The storybook lover side of him, a part that would never die, could not have cared less.

"We are the Dawnbringers! Where shadow has fallen, we are the ones that will bring the light!" Weilstadt called out. He lifted _Radiance _over his head. "We fear no darkness, for we are the coming dawn!"

Steel rang as one-hundred newly anointed knights raised their own weapons high.

"_The Dawn Provides!" _The Dawnbringers lifted the motto of the Order to the heavens.

After that, one of the Dawnbringers raised their voice, "three cheers for Sir Weilstadt! Huzzah!"

"_For Sir Weilstadt! Huzzah!" _The others replied in kind. "_Huzzah! Huzzah!"_

Lowering _Radiance, _Weil turned to Karolina amid the cheering.

"What now, good Sir Marshal?" She asked over the din, a sly smile on her lips.

"Now...", Weilstadt said, gazing upon his uproarious Dawnbringers, "...now we really get started."

* * *

_...and this, my dear readers, is where my chronicle must come to a close. You may find it a curious place to stop, but there are a few reasons why I chose to do this._

_The first is, simply, that these books have been telling _my _story. One could consider them a portion of my dear friend Aclan's story, as well, but based upon his comments after reading these volumes, I have not represented him to his satisfaction. If such a thing surprises you, then you have not been reading very closely. Should you yourself read this part, Herr Sunshine, rest assured, your brooding attitude has been more endearing than repulsive._

_The second is that, after giving a dramatic speech to the Dawnbringers about no authors or bards writing and singing of their tales, it would be rather hypocritical of me to record them just from my perspective. I trust the Chronicler of our Order to do a much better job than I at keeping an objective record of the Dawnbringers' exploits, free of flowery embellishment._

_Finally, I did not found this Order to dwell on the past. In fact, one of the main focuses of the Dawnbringers is to throw off the chains of the past. There are, indeed, many former criminals among our ranks. I want to give them all the chance I was luckily given by people like Aclan, my father-in-law, my wife, and no small number of others that I met along the way._

_And what of Aclan, you might ask. Well, you will be happy to know that he passed his second trial and slew a White Lion. The old cloak was destroyed in the effort, but perhaps it was fitting that it was lost in his effort to earn another. The most recent letter I received from him at the time of this writing confirmed that his wife, Gweyir, has given birth to a son, named Calahir after Aclan's much admired first charge as a White Lion. I had suggested "Volker" as a middle name when Ac first informed me of Gweyir's pregnancy. I was politely told that elves don't have middle names. More's the pity._

_My nephew, Tobias, is about to finish his stint at the University of Altdorf. He's staying far away from the Army at the behest of his mother. I know my brother, Rikter, looks on with pride wherever he might be right now. The lad's brighter than anyone with Weilstadt blood has any right to be. I suspect it comes from his mother. _

_Frau Becker passed on a few years ago. The last time I saw her, she told me she had to admit I'd done something "acceptable" with my life in light of founding the Dawnbringers. Take that for what you will._

_And Karolina. My beloved Karolina. I would need to dedicate a full volume to her. It was her that chose the name of our daughter, Anette, in honor of Karolina's mother. It is Karolina that, to this day, I can turn to when the weight of the world grows too heavy. There is no one that I've met that is stronger. Ranald's luck be willing, we will both live to see Anette grow to be as strong as her mother._

_Ser Gerard d'Terre succeeded in his Grail Quest. Astre and he still venture around the Old World to this very day. I can think of no noble in the world more worthy of bearing the title of a knight._

_There are others I met; Desideria's Strigany Clan, Thane Othri in the Border Princes, Grafin Tessa Kreiche in Brockel, Mavaen the Asrai of Anmyr, the list goes on and on. I wish I could tell you their fates, give closure to all these real, living, breathing people I have encountered in my travels. Sadly, I can't._

_My journey from leaving the Sewer Watch to the founding of the Dawnbringers has left indelible marks, both literally and figuratively. I will not forget the people I met along the way, the triumphs, the defeats. I always wanted to be a storybook hero, and while I didn't feel like one at the time during any of these events, I look back and can't help but see why one might see it a different way. After all, I did slay a dragon and recover its hoard, help foil a dastardly attack on a noble ball, and stop a treacherous vampiress from raising an army of undead._

_I look back on these things and they pale in comparison to others. I met an elf who is now like a brother to me. I found a wonderful woman to give my heart to, and who has given hers to me in return. My lifelong, childish dream to become a knight came true and then some. I found the very thing I left behind when I was a young, foolish child, coming full circle, as is so common in the stories. I found it in Aclan, in Karolina, in my Dawnbringers, and in all the friends I made besides._

_I found a family._

_-final passage from "The Sewer Knight: The Life and Times of Sir Volker Weilstadt"_

* * *

_**(Author's Note: I've been writing for leisure for fifteen years now. This is the longest work I've made to date. It's definitely got some rough patches as I read back and a few inconsistencies with minor character names, but frankly, I'm not out to make money off of this so I ain't even mad. Thank you to everyone who buoyed my spirit with your reviews, follows, and favorites, as well as the people liking and sharing on Facebook. I hope this saga was a bright spot in your lives. I know it was rather noblebright for Warhammer but that's always been my style. Feel free to peruse my other stuff on here as it gets put up. As always, may Ranald's luck be with all of you.)**_


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